I don’t know anything about this damn bird or whether it’s even smart enough to reach Delumine, but I figured it was worth a try.
First of all, a sincere fuck you for leaving me alone at the festival: as much as I hate to admit it, having your company is, sometimes, better than not. Performative goodness in front of other people is so exhausting, and it’s a relief that neither of us having anything left to prove to each other, at least in terms of monstrosity. (It also would have been nice not to pay for my own drinks.)
Secondly: I owe you an apology. Here it is, even though I know you won’t take it. I shouldn’t have said what I did. More to the point, you’re absolutely stupid for thinking I’d expect you to make me do anything, and even more stupid for thinking I wouldn’t kick your ass if you did. I’m sorry for letting you imagine anything otherwise. Not everything is about you, you know. I wanted to be angry, and you happened to be in the way.
You’re always in my way. Do you know that?
Seraphina promoted me - I’m Regent now. So watch the hell out, I guess. I’m sure you think I’m bringing this up just for a brag (you know me so well) but what I’m trying to say is that an eagle came yesterday, all gold-eyed magic, and told the regime we had to come to Veneror. Demanded it, really. We’re leaving right after I send this, and the point is, idiot, if you want, I’ll drop by and, I don’t know, explain, or you can come up to the Summit and harass me if I haven’t already been smited in punishment for the same big mouth I’m apologizing to you for now. (Smote?)
Gods, this made me nauseous. Looks like I’m allergic either to blue ink or to apologizing. Take your best guess.
Whenever you get this is when our whole mess splits in half, I guess, love or death, so pull hard and make a wish. I won’t ask what yours is if you don’t ask mine.
Character #1: @Asterion Bonded: Yes, a Pallas' Gull, but not being used in this fight Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NA Current Health: 20 Current Attack: 20 Current Experience: 35
Character #2: @Eik Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NA Current Health: 18 Current Attack:22 Current Experience: 29
Asterion
in sunshine and in shadow*
It is the end of summer, and a late-afternoon shower has just wrung itself out and left the sky a pale washed blue when Asterion makes his way to the Steppe.
For the first time in a long while, there is no nervousness in him; just a kind of anticipation that has his blood humming, his muscles eager. He is (to a little of his own chagrin) looking forward to testing himself against Eik – not because he anticipates any weakness in the man, or figures himself to win, but because it will be his first challenge against someone like him.
Just a horse. No wings, no blade, no horn.
The ground is soft beneath his hooves, though not quite sodden; he imagines they may both be mud-colored by the end of their meeting. The bay cannot quite keep still as he waits; he paces wide arcs, though a strong western breeze keeps sweat from darkening his flanks.
The grey, of course, does not keep him waiting long. At the agreed-upon time there is a pale mark at the edge of the field, and Asterion comes to a stop to watch it approach. As it grows in his vision, so does a smile on the bay’s dark mouth, though he smothers it when they are a few lengths apart.
He should at least try to look imposing, despite the wash of warmth at the sight of his friend, and the way his nerves jitter like a runner’s before the gun goes off.
“Well, Emissary,” he greets Eik, but he betrays his serious tone by grinning. “Show me what the desert has taught you.”
Summary: Asterion arrives a bit after a rain, finding the ground soft but not soaked. He paces a bit and then greets Eik like 'yo hey buddy'
I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile
He’d only heard of her, mostly in passing and in the whispering of the trees, and even captured a glimpse of her once before on his journey to the capitol. An enthralling woman of creamy gold, fair and just in her rule from what he’d been told. Florentine was her name and she was the mortal Sovereign of Vespera’s realm, and it was she that Atreus sought as he wound his way to the lush fields.
Standing beside a roaring flame that spread a brilliant sheen across her gilded hide, Florentine was easy enough for him to locate, but… But she was not alone. He didn’t know with whom she stood with, but they did not hold Atreus’ interests, not now.
A scowl contorted his face, but the expression was muted enough, gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Although Atreus quite enjoyed himself an exquisite celebration every now and then, his desire laid within the Sovereign and picking her brain. So many questions still remained, of what had changed in the span of five years, where the whole of Novus now stood, what he had missed in his time away… If the Ilati still called Terrastella home, or if he and Turhan were all that remained of the peculiar group.
Breathing deep, Atreus turned his back to the pair and set his sights on the other party-goers. He found himself floating adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, but the fact didn’t faze him. Maybe Fiona would pass him by and he could exchange words of thanks for her illustration? Perhaps, while he waited, he would find another captivating individual with knowledge to share, secrets to pass along? He was a sociable creature, after all, to the extent that some may label him as nettlesome. The man bore a mask of genteel and solicitous tendencies, an old and wizened master of concealing his true intentions, whatever they may be. Hell, sometimes even Atreus wasn’t sure what they were – but in due time, under the proper circumstances, all would be revealed.
For now, the poison master made his way to the tables that had been set up to fill a plate, that perpetual, facile smile snaking its way across his lips once more.
And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil
there aint no grave that can hold my body down, Tomorrow isn't promised and that's even if you live today
The sunset slowly turned into a sunrise, as unsteady hoofs collide with the harden ground of the path he walks on. Uneven huffs echoes as his pace hadn't slowed since this night, time was money as they say. long and powerful strides takes the young adult to a newer destination. never staying more then a year, his search coming up empty every time. Nothing about ancient markings he bore came up in old scripts. travelling had become a second nature now, coming and going. no place was home and nothing was calling him back, no future where he had begun. Shaking his head, there was no use to lingering on the answered questions. only more raised when he took time to settle in the back of his mind, and today he was rather tired of deception.
The sound of metal clanging against the rocks on the path, almost in a arithmetic chime. his clear amber eyes glanced about, observing every detail of the path hes taking. it will be the same when he decides to leave, because lets face it. no land had been able to capture him in it's embrace for long. the world was sad, cruel and answered questions and this is what drives him to move on. he as a deep hunger, one for knowledge and myths. from the sea gods, to the mythical creatures of the night he as studied everything that gave anyone chills. Even down to angels, sirens and what ever may be able to seduce men without effort.
Slowly he halts sideways, something clearly catching his eye. extending his nose, he let's the smell sink into his sensors. it smells of salt and fresh herbs, intrigued he breaks the line of the forest. Deserting the path he had traveled so long on, curiosity always getting the better of him. leaving the confinement of the trees to look at a barren cliff side's with massive rocks. a devilish grin settles on his dusty lips, something about it glowing mischief. moving quickly around the tall boulders, checking them out for any inscription but found nothing. The sounds of crashing waves peeking his interest, tilting his head to look over to his right. the waves ramming themselves against the cliff sides and further down a more calmer beach side.
He kicks off in a bolt, using what was ever left of his energy to get to the beach side. resistance was found when he hit the water chest first. it wasn't intentional but he had forgotten how the water could stop anyone in mid run. feeling the water run up his nose he squeals. the burning sensation quite annoying, tossing his head to right removing what ever was left. he wiggles his nose, irritation dancing over his head but he made no effort to move. He stayed for moments, letting the cold water sooth his tired and sore joints. tired of all the sudden from his long travels and his incident. just as he was going to exit the sea water a figure catches his attention. he stops, ears flickering forward, his eyes locking on the silhouette. his tail, swished behind him, before curling up. gently moving his legs apart, unsure how this encounter would go down. he was on a new land and this may just belong to someone. he was ready to brawl if the other think he could simply chase him off.
He sighs at regular intervals, always catching his breath though he moves slowly in his hobbling gait. It’s as if his lungs occasionally empty and somehow forget to expand again until the rest of the body cries out for air! Coffee colored eyelids fall and refuse to reopen when blinking, the split second of darkness behind them being greedily taken advantage of by his sleep deprived mind, which lapses into blissful semi-consciousness almost instantly.
His head lowers as his systems falter and his nose bumps against the ground in front of him. His dragging hooves stumble, and he only barely and unattractively stops himself from crumpling forward, his heart racing suddenly as if to forcibly inject some life in the other organs attached to it, sneering, I never rest, what’s your problem?
There are many types of tired and the mud-colored stallion has felt his share of each, but this is something different, something outside the familiar confines of weariness or fatigue or exhaustion. It’s not like the intense pain and stiffness of strained muscles or the suffocating, dripping heat of overexertion. It’s more like a war of attrition, a slow and losing battle of endurance and determination.
It's a whole mind-body type of waning where every part of his very essence is thinned, drained, frayed. It’s been so long since he started out on this marathon that his body has all but surrendered to eternal movement, given up complaining to an unresponsive brain and silently accepted meeting death mid-step, almost relishing the thought of it just to finally be at rest, to finally be still.
Each time he staggers, blinking and squinting at the unfamiliar rock formations around him, he yawns, ears flopping lifelessly in either direction atop his head. “Ahh, shit.” He groans, shaking himself, almost giving in now to the hypnotic urge to fold his knees and let himself fall flat against the ground. He wants it so badly, but he should keep moving. His only advantage over the faster, more able horses behind is a stolen head start and how much longer he can maintain it than they. Stopping risks being overtaken and returned to the place he left, because he knows they’ll want him back and he’s sure they could convince him to stay if he listens, if he hears the dismay and the love in their voices.
Love is selfless, after all, but he won’t make them be. He refuses to burden those he gave so much to protect. What would be the point then? And why should they make sacrifices for a commitment they entered unwittingly? Better to burden a stranger, he thinks, to drag down a herd who knows from the start what an impractical addition he makes. At least then the sacrifices will feel – fair? No, but something nearer to it he wagers, he hopes.
Plenty was happening, both within and without the kingdom of Terrastella, to draw the red stallion's interests away from the heart of the territory. Certainly there was no love lost between him and its sovereign, who in her own youthful romanticism had all of the energy in the world to champion lost causes and none of the sense she needed to see those lost causes for what they were.
It was quintessentially Flora, and at least he could not accuse her of selling her soul to better fit the crown. Still, he doubted her youth and inexperience in what promised to be dark times, and he much preferred to lose himself in the pursuit of his own intrigues.
But throw a party and you can bet Raymond will try to make at least a symbolic appearance - even if it's in Susurro Fields.
He was not a courtier, to don fancy garments and smize and curtsy while trading words with less substance than the air it took to say them, but such gatherings and such company were easy functions to exploit, and always fun to observe. For One Night Only™ the walls of both kingdom and citizen turned from solid stone to swiss cheese, and a thoughtful word was suddenly as effective as a jackhammer at penetrating them.
Tonight, though, the red stallion was content to stand - not apart, but alone amongst the gathering horses - and let the night develop as it may rather than injecting himself into a conversation. His tail blade was freshly cleaned and sharpened and lay in its usual languid arc at his back, no more menacing than an ornamental saber belted at the waist.
Raymond. and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
Anyone feel free to jump in, though I would love a chance to RP with someone I've not threaded with before on Novus!
It is near-dawn when Mari leaves the festival. Overhead the sky is awash with gauzy pinks and purples, stained with beginning color and only the earliest warmth of the rising sun, and against the low-slung outline of the Dawn Court, Mari is simply a dark feline figure stalking through the streets. The blunt cut of her hair is off-putting against the softness of everything else - the way she walks, predatory and mechanical, makes her stand out like a sore thumb. Delumine is not made for a girl like her, she knows. Is not made for someone so much a soldier.
Still she slinks past stained-glass windows and ribbons floating in the wind, past cobblestone buildings and gilded wooden doors. The world is utterly quiet around her. Most of Delumine is fast asleep or fighting a hangover - either way, they’re deadly silent. Mari can hear her own breath, her own blood, her own steps on the pavement. It is utterly fascinating. Terrastella is hardly ever this dead, at least at the times that Marisol patrols; even in the early morning she’s likely to come across Florentine or Asterion deep in thought and wandering the streets, never mind their caretakers, stumbling out of hospitals and herbalist shops only as the sun comes up. The deepest, strangest parts of her are comforted by this sudden aloneness, and she has to force herself not to read too far into it.
A bird coos overhead, soft and musical. Mari’s ear flicks. Her gaze snaps upward for a half-second, just catching the last beats of its wings as it disippates, and something warm and off-putting - something near to appreciation - hits her in a moment, then disappears the next. She quashes it.
Marisol turns the next corner absent-mindedly, then stops in her tracks, wings flaring in surprise: at the other end of the street, a silhouette looms, black against the watery sun, moving at a militaristic click. The Commander’s gray eyes narrow. With only a moment of pause, she pushes her wings to slick back against her ribs and starts to move forward, head tilted upward, strides contracted and composure steely.
It is a strange thing, to once again walk a landscape that does not twist and churn and invert itself in no more than the blink of an eye. Indra cannot help but feel constantly ready for it—braced against the moment when the magic of the rift will yawn back up to snatch the ground from beneath her hooves, transforming this soft, late-summer world around her into something violent and unnatural.
But the seaside cliffs fade gradually into rolling fields, and their tall, waving grasses are so gentle, so golden, so ordinary that Indra’s heart almost breaks for the beauty of it. Autumn is still but a kiss on the breeze, a pale sheen of frost on the grass at dawn. If the rift lurks here, waiting, the only change that it wreaks is to turn the leaves from green to scarlet and bronze.
Indra is surprised, and not surprised, when she stumbles upon the little celebration nestled in the shadow of the woods. The Dawn festival had been a sprawling, lively thing, attended by far more horses than she had seen in one place for quite some time, and she has been half-waiting to discover where the people of Terrastella must make their home. Quietly she slips in among those present, listening absently to their conversations, keeping an (unoptimistic) eye out for any signs of the Ilati.
And then she sees someone she knows, and the shock of it has her going rigid where she stands, her neck straightening, her nostrils flaring in disbelief.
A cream-colored pegasus might be a common enough sight, but it is the spill of amethyst flowers over the young mare’s neck and shoulders, the slender dagger glinting at her chest—
“You were a child,” Indra says, and the words are cold, cold, cold. If Florentine is here, in Terrastella—if this place is just another trick of the rift—
Indra’s golden eyes narrow, and she stalks toward the other woman, and each iron footfall is a step across worlds. Her breath is coming slow, and deep, and steady, and she feels such a terrible calm as she lowers her head, the iron tip of her horn coming to rest against the pegasus’s milky-golden cheek.
She does not know that Florentine is a queen, here; she does not know that she herself might well be flayed alive for simply drawing so near to this ruler of Dusk, much less for laying a weapon against her skin. She knows only that she saw this girl of flowers lying small and broken in the winter mud.
The barest twitch of a muscle, and Indra could open the sovereign’s cheek, but the unicorn is still, so still. Her golden eyes find Florentine’s, and they are as violet as she remembers, impossibly deep. “I watched you die.”
The golden daughter carried herself like royalty, an echo of the nobility that she had once enjoyed in the way that her limbs extended in a confident strut that was filled with purpose. Her stride crushed the wet frost that covered the ground, the warning of the winter to come -- autumn just beginning to take his hold upon the land. Her head was lifted, poised as though she wore an invisible crown, covered with a shroud that could not quite hide the ambitious glint in those gunmetal grey eyes.
The ivory fabric that covered her was of the finest quality, delicate gold beads lining the seams in patterns and suns. If she were to meet a god, she wanted to look like her truest self -- not the meek maid that she had been forced to become in Delumine. No, she was an aristocrat -- born into the heights of society, and her attire reflected it.
Dawn was just beginning to claw its way across the land, the still of the night giving way to the symphony of colors. She had arrived the day before, along with several others from the citadel, but forced herself to wait until the regime had entered into the sacred place. She could feel the own gnashing of her teeth as they had disappeared behind the large wooden doors, the rising urge to chase after them -- but the instructs had been very clear. Only the Sovereigns and their regime could be permitted.
A snort rumbled out of her nares, the blonde rolling her eyes in annoyance as she paced the summit grounds. She had witnessed the arrival of her people, Solterrans, who had come in a great caravan with the queen at their head. Her gaze had been greedy as she looked upon them, the strange pangs of homesickness slapping against her like ocean waves. She had looked for her parents among them, even though she knew that they would not be there. They were long dead and cold, though she had never seen them buried.
She would go home with them, she had decided -- her heart giving a squeeze of terror at the thought. But it was more than time to go home, and seek the justice she so desperately deserved.
The mare clenched her teeth at the thought, bringing her mind back to the present before her. The emptiness and yet fullness of this place, the air electrified with tense anticipation as they all waited for the meaning of all of this. She yanked the hood from her head, listening to the gentle clattering of beads as she unveiled her head, her blonde hair a mess yet held in place with her signature gold butterfly pin.
She glanced again at the wooden doors that their governing bodies had disappeared behind. A prayer twisted on her tongue, though it was not for them.
“Solis, give me the strength.” She murmured to herself, hoping her prayer to the warrior god did not fall on deaf ears, turning her gaze the sky as it swirled from the black of night into the pink of morning.
If Raymond were to say he did not like this place, then one might be forgiven in assuming he liked no place - which wasn't strictly accurate. Sussuro Fields had struck him with their melancholy emptiness, but the vibes he got while investigating the summit were more of a creeping sickness in the gut, cold fish at market just beginning to turn in the late afternoon sun. There was too much rampant magic here. It would undoubtedly attract the wrong sorts, if the magic itself did not already owe its existence to the wrong sort.
Would that he could return to the simpler days, when the greatest concern to consider was the reach of your enemy's blade and the integrity of their aim.
But he would not trade his present life, good or ill, for all the simplicity in the world.
He stood a respectable distance from the unnatural circle of trees, overlooking the summit's verdant oddity and the rest of Veneror Peak's more natural slopes with a guarded eye. The air was thick with anticipation as the time for Things to happen ticked inexorably nearer, and horses from all directions trickled in as though drawn by the call of the deep magics at work.
Even from the southeast.
Interesting.
Raymond. and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
