Dusk threw its purple mantle over the sea, casting long shadows beneath it.
How calming it was, the perpetual push and pull of the waves—it reminded him of home, or at least, where he had been born. The brine swirled around his ankles, a welcome contrast to the hot summer air that pressed heavily against his skin despite the maritime breeze. Florestan exhaled softly, watching sea-birds play above the horizon. It had been several weeks since his hooves had landed on his strange soil; he couldn't say that he enjoyed every moment of it, but this place wasn't too bad as far as strange places go. At least there were flowers, and the sea, and golden nymphs offering salves for sunburnt noses. A little smile curled on his pink lips when he thought of the lavender girl—she was one of his very first friends, Novus or elsewhere.
He pressed on deeper into the waves, feeling the coolness of the water enveloping his belly, his chest. Florestan did few things well, but one thing he could do was swim. A childhood spent along the sea's edge had made him effectively amphibious, although he couldn't claim the ability of breathing underwater (yet). His pale hair swirled in the water as he began to paddle, head tilted upwards above the waves and a too-big grin playing on his youthful face. A curious gull swooped down to investigate the strange swimming boy and he laughed, wondering if the bird had ever seen a horse in the water.
The last rays of daylight played in the sky above him, causing purples and oranges and red to play in the sky above him. For the first time in a long while, the rain boy realized that he felt at ease with both himself and the world and that perhaps life wasn't so cruel after all.
The strange conversation with the mysterious unicorn in the woods left Pavetta unsettled. Unsettled and restless. You could be unstoppable… The words were branded in her mind, a fire she could not put out. She left the tree line, galloping through the swaying grass, kicking up her heels as she suddenly felt the urge to be surrounded by the hustle of the crowd, to be enveloped by the hum of music and shadows. Mostly she wanted to forget the silver eyed woman and the promises she had whispered. She shook her head, hair flying in the wind, and yet the sting of the black horn on her cheek lingered.
Lies….
The woman in black was just as Pavetta remembered the sorceresses of the mountain: cold, calculating, ethereal—telling Pavetta what she wanted—no—needed to hear. And like a fool, Pavetta believed it and yearned to know more despite the chilling sense of danger, of imminent peril.
She merged with the crowd, slowing her pace to a leisurely walk that was not without purpose. I need a drink. And drink she did, deeply, the fire spreading rapidly through her veins, burning and numbing at the same time. Only when her thoughts were drowned out by the buzz spreading in her head did she wander among the booths and vendors, trying her best not to stumble.
Pavetta stopped at the stage to watch a fire-eater dancing through his routine of flame and smoke. The crowd was a blur of faces but one stood out in particular. A red man, devilish almost. She had watched his performance earlier in the day and had been utterly fascinated by the savage blade on his tail and the intricate details he carved with it. She stared at him blatantly (quite emboldened by the wine), noting the rippling of his muscles, the easy way in which he carried himself. She waited for him to notice her gaze and then promptly decided she was too impatient to wait.
“You’re just a regular lumberjack with that thing, aren’t you?” A smirk pulled at her lips, her words laced in venom as she sidled through the crowd to settle at his side. Her blood ran hot, her head felt clouded. She didn’t know what she needed, what she wanted. She could only feel the wine, the hum of the crowd, the heaviness of the air in her lungs “It’s a shame you’d waste such a fine weapon on carving silly toys for children.” She goaded him, flirting with danger—poking a stick at a rattlesnake.
But Pavetta felt like playing with fire and she was bound to get burned.
a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse,
creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---
The ice crystal hovered in the air in front of him, glistening and unmelting.
It had taken admittedly far longer than he’d expected to craft such a small arrangement. It was hardly the size of one of his canon bones—and yet…
It was a tulip. Beautiful and icy in its frozen display, complete with a long stem boasting a pair of serrated leaves.
He had carved it from the compacted ice he’d found in the northern parts of the Rapax, where he’d been wandering prior to coming to the festival. He’d managed to keep it alive with a combination of his frosty breath and sheer will: it turned out the new magic that coursed throughout his veins was useful for something after all. Not that he intended to spend his life carving out figures from ice; but it was something.
It was supposed to be his gift to the celebration—the invitations had all said to bring something of his own artistic talent. He’d nearly scoffed when he read the sign because he never had been the creative child, Aion was far more likely to buy a million paintings to frame his walls than to so much as lift a finger to a paintbrush. He almost hadn’t made anything at all, almost hadn’t even come. But once he’d first started molding the ice… he found he couldn’t stop. Not until it was finished.
Yet he still couldn't convince himself on that stage with it.
He’d nearly thrown it away instead—it was useless, after all. Not to mention it required a fair bit of work to prevent it from melting into a puddle of water, and Aion wasn’t about to spend the rest of his days breathing frost on a carving of ice to keep it preserved.
But something stayed his hand, and kept the frozen flower close to his chest, where the chill of his body might protect it from the warming spring days.
The tulip wasn’t perfect by any means, a better artist may have made its edges smoother and more even, may have peeled away the petals to show the flower in bloom. Aion wasn’t an artist, and he didn’t have the skill to accomplish perfection. Nonetheless, he was proud of his creation, and of what it represented to him. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been able to get up in front of the crowds: a fear of his hard work being mocked, or worse, that he’d be asked to describe his muse. His muse that had been missing for over a year now, no matter how many places he looked.
Still cradling his flower within his invisible grasp, he turned away from the stage and the crowds. He wasn’t going to present his creation, nor was he in the mood anymore to see what any of the others had to offer.
After a short walk he found himself in the fields, where thousands upon thousands of blossoms greeted his eye. Almost without thinking, he held his frozen flower out to another far more vibrant and lively one, as if to compare the two creations.
He already knew the real one would be better, but still he couldn’t help himself from at least looking, comparing the two side by side. A frown slipped onto his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scraped away one more imperfection from his tiny sculpture.
Never would he have imagined that it would have come to this. Orion, stepping with precision beside a young horse, a boy of pinks and peaches, all smiles and flowers in his hair. An innocent creature, certainly. He had learned the other was named Rigel, and was a caretaker in Dawn, good company on days that Orion had sought him out for tea and a read.
The Emissary smiled to himself as they walked the creek, his hooves carefully displacing grasses and the whispering winds that came to them from near the creek. It had surprised him, that when he had expressed his want for a child, that Rigel had piped up with the fact that he could help. It had never occurred to him to ask the other, and it had surprised him even more when Rigel had admitted to having the proper anatomy to do so. It was a generous offer, and one that they had discussed. It had taken a few times to talk over it, to ensure that Rigel had even wanted to do it, if he was absolutely sure.
Several talks and time later, and here they were, side by side, with Orion tilting his head and smiling, brushing his nose against a scaled neck after ducking his head down, a friendly gesture. "Thank you so much for doing this. It means.. a lot." Being exiled and his entire past? Well. He didn't want the life of any child of his to turn out like his had. Not only that, but having a foal to raise would mean he could pass the time with them, teach them, take them with him on his Emissary missions and teach them the world.
The thought of teaching someone so much and loving them? Being loved? It made his chest ache and swell, and he was grateful for this, for every bit of it.
Isra is fresh from the fire when she finally makes it to the festival. Her lashes are heavy with soot and ash and her tears have made riverbeds from the thick gray that looks like stone in the hollows of her cheeks. Frothy sweat clings to her shoulders like sea-foam and the leaves tangled in her mane could be seaweed for how dark they've grown through all the lands she's ran across.
On and on she ran, ignoring the frantic beat of her heart how it pleaded to stop, to rest. Even her lungs, when they burned like acid in her chest, could not stop those wild legs of her from running until they broke.
A desert clings to that hollow of her spine. Swamp mud clings to her legs and swallows up that bell-chime rattle of her slave chain. Even the stars cling to her. Though she hates the jasmine and spice of that distant night court and all it's demons, she can't quite get the hint of it off her skin.
It's only the sight of the festival, of the peace of horses with flowers upon their brows and glitter on their skin, that stops that frantic fleeing of her legs.
She's still cautious as she joins them, afraid of what monsters might lurk behind these faces that look so much like hers. Only the children don't send her slipping back for those soothing shadows of the forest. They braid flowers into her hair and draw long swooping swirls of glitter across the places of her body that look too tired and battered to be lovely. Soon she's no longer that sweaty, battered and smoke-stained ghost of a girl.
The children make a mermaid of her, a creature of scales and flowers. Isra looks more like some fantasy of the deep with the way she sparkles like the sea as the sky turns dusky. They even paint her chain to hide the rust and horror of it. It shines like the moon and rings like a falling star as she lays down to rest in the sweet summer grass.
Perhaps it's because their lack of pretense that for that first time since she drowned in the sea that words and images boil and seethe on the tip of her tongue. There is a sea of stories in her, risen up from that locked box of her past. They push and push and push at her lips.
And so she says, neck arched out to touch the nose of each child that she welcomes closer to her throne of grass and flowers. “I have a story to tell you.” Gone is that ghost of a girl and she whispers like every word she says is secret. The grass under her bends with the breeze of her breath and for a moment the meadow seems hushed, poised on the inhale of her lugs.
All the children resting around her wait, bodies quivering with that wildness that grows in Isra's smile as she looks way out over their heads. She looks as if she has spotted something grand and beautiful that only she can see, something as elegant as it is tragic.
“Once there was a girl and a sea and they both lived in a world covered in monsters and devils. There was very little kindness in this world, for it was as harsh and brutal as the sun that ruled over it. The sun never faded, never faltered and everything in that world was dull with dust and drier that any desert in Novus. Only the sea could withstand the sun and the girl often went to him for just a moment of respite from the deadly heat of her homeland.” Her voice is nothing more than a springtime breeze, a hint of warmth in a sea of ice. Only her eyes are loud and they blaze with her words. An entire galaxy could be seen in that ocean-blue if someone met her gaze at just the right angle.
And in the pause of her story her eyes look up, meeting a gaze that was not there when she started.
She smiles, forgetting for a moment that she is afraid of the older horses of this world, afraid of the terrible potential of them all. That smile seems to beckon and the scales on her sides seem to shine just a little brighter, a little bolder.
For a moment, as she waits for them to join her gathering or continue on to the blazing bonfires, Isra seems as if she could be a siren.
– as if she could be of that sea that lives now only in the magic of her voice.
* * * * * fire in the water is the body of our love
Pale lids pulled away from shockingly blue eyes as a yawn tore forth from between my ivories. Rose gold tinted wings stretched outwards, popping and cracking as they extended to their full span, the yawn turning into a smile that twisted my delicate features. The sun's rays peeked through the leaves, turning my rosy pelt into a masterpiece of green and gold dapples as the light glittered through the tree's full branches.
Napping, I had decided, seemed to be the best way to pass the time until the Night Court decided to set us free by unlocking their gates once more. There was much to do outside of our little realm, I still had so much to learn before I could even think of becoming the head healer for the Rahilah...being the apprentice was just enough for me. I didn't feel as if I had enough experience or the knowledge to be able to confidently take over. But I had to trust, and trust I did, that the Crone knew what she was doing when she stepped forward and chose me to be the successor in a great line of fine mares who had held the position before me.
Dainty ears flicked back and forth, listening as the irritable creatures of the Night Court moved through the court yard of our home. It seemed everyone was getting a small case of the cabin fever, even though the gates hadn't been locked overly long...I think. But there wasn't anything we could do but wait and hope that sooner rather than later they'd open the gates and we'd be free once again to roam. A sigh slid between rosy lips while lids grew heavy once again, my irritable exploring of the court would come later, much later once the bright sun had set and the moon I so worshipped was out again. Filling the world with her gentle embrace.
Rather than partake in the dismal attitude of those awake now, or finding one of my sisters to annoying with my "bright" personality, I allowed my lids to grow heavy once again. Wings tucked back in close to my sides and my nose found it's resting place in the warm opening between my wing and my body.
"speech"
@Toulouse && all are welcome || sorry e.e it's kind of shit, I am trying to figure her out and I am exhausted after work xD BUT I promise it'll get better as the thread goes
It was a sudden, drastic turn from the hot summer day and the cloudless afternoon sky that shone upon the Susurro Fields. Dark, billowing clouds rolled in on the wind, gathering and clumping about within the sky, so thick and dark that they blotted out the sun. Gusts of cold air tousled dry grasses and brittle leaves, the limbs of trees swaying and groaning with the sudden shift of atmosphere.
A sense of unease grew, of uncertainty. Finally, rain began to fall in great sheets, pattering the still-hot earth and creating pockets of rising mist. The smell of rain was heady and pungent, the scent of dirt, ozone, and fear on the wind.
Suddenly, something in the air shifted. A loud ’snap!’ echoed across the land, before a rip in the world seemed to open. It was a tear, a void, a portal, opening feet above the grassy field. Two figures tumbled out and landed in a heap, breathless and terrified. The portal slowly knit itself shut before disappearing entirely, and with its departure the rain let up, the clouds parted to reveal the sun, and the summer heat once more returned.
It all happened in minutes. Maybe less.
One of the figures shifted where he lay in a wretched heap, stretching out as he tested his limbs, downy white wings splaying as he checked the appendages for damage. Nothing. No breaks or pains, other than from the side he had been unceremoniously dumped on. A groan left dark lips, eyes fluttering open to reveal the color of vivid turquoise. Immediately he winced against the bright sunlight, rolling to try and get lean legs tucked underneath him. All of his limbs felt like rubber, so he simply lay upon the earth for a while longer, attempting to get his bearings.
“Ard?” He croaked out, concern coating his words. “Ard?” A grunt of displeasure was his only response. Erd grinned, breathless and boyish. “Yeah, yeah.”
As the world began to stop spinning, Erd’s narrowed eyes regarded where they had been abandoned. This place… This was not the rebel camp. It didn’t look even remotely close to the rebel camp, or even Luminous in general. Where shouts and curses had been echoing through the air before as he and Ard had frantically focused their magic to create a portal, there was nothing but silence here. It was almost too loud, his ears ringing at the sheer nothingness of it all. They were no longer in a frozen mountain pass, but instead a wide, open field, full of brittle grasses and the smell of moisture on the wind. Had it been raining? But the sun was hot and burning in the sky. He didn’t understand.
Feeling a bit more confident in his strength, Erd slowly began to unfurl his legs. With a grunt, the warlock slowly pushed himself upright, swaying slightly, but was able to stand. He turned to the grey and taupe figure still laying in the damp grass at his side. "Are you okay?"
As peaceful as this place was, they had to ensure that they were safe. Escaping capture only to end up the slaves of whoever called this place home wasn’t an option.
Posted by: Araxes - 05-19-2018, 01:13 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
ARAXES
tender heart
Isolated. They were stuck behind gates and she would not stand for it when the rest of her family was not there. Her duties were to her Court but she would not place them before her family. No sacrifice was worth cutting her family off from herself.
Araxes had made up her mind.
Shaking her head, the mare moved herself, a determination singing in her veins brighter than anything else had ever been in her life, hooves clicking on the flooring as her wings tucked against her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she walked. Her pace only picked up after a moment, to something more of a trot as she listened to her own steps, her own heartbeat. Ara was not one to seek conflict by nature, preferring to avoid it or soothe it, so this was a new step for her, and she turned down a hall.
One of the regime would be here, she knew that much, and another turn brought her in to a room in the large structure of the court, her head bobbing slightly out of agitation and her breathing a little harder from the adrenaline that tingled at her.
"We need to talk." The words came out, and it surprised her just how calm they were as she stood there. Such a gentle mare but a fierceness gleamed in her eyes, lighting her up and feeding her what felt like lightning in her veins. "I cannot stay here, trapped behind these gates, while my entire family is outside of them. I know my duty is to be Champion of Wisdom but how can I be someone wise to look up to if I stay within these walls and choose it over my family?" Her voice was softer, but she was still firm.
Not angry, not loud. Simply, determined.
@Reichenbach @Aislinn or @Isorath for this (so @Spaced / @Roo / @Arahvir ) since she's a champion and all
The meeting had past. Tempers had calmed, she hoped, considering how heated the entire situation had gotten. Days had wandered by, the same as they always had been but with the one thought that was no doubt hanging in the back of everyone's minds: they could not leave. Jezanna had felt a pang when she heard those words, a constricting around her, but she did not have the same zeal for the situation as most had. She also did not have the same view as them, has not lived here all her life.
The midnight woman made her way leisurely through the streets, weaving between bodies, silver eyes cast about as she took in everything. On the surface so little had changed. It was still the same court she had set foot in all those months ago when she had been so much newer to this world. So much less sure. She had changed, some, since then and underneath, the court had changed too.
Across the crowd, Jezanna sees ivory hair paired against dark skin; the silver tipped wings of a gypsy. She makes her way through, to, recalling the way the woman had stood tall before them, believing the best for them. She remembered the storm she had sang, the darkening sky she broiled against, even as angry words were thrown in the regime's direction. There had been too many of them, hurled, spat, in all directions, then.
"Aislinn," she reached out for the stormsinger, beckoning her to turn where a friendly smile would wait for her. Before the meeting she had not seen the other woman since that night on the shores of Vitreus, and even now, standing next to her, Jezanna still did not know what had come of the gypsy hearted champion of the stars. Perhaps now she would have a chance. Perhaps now, she could simply give what she had to offer: her listening ear and compassionate heart.
Jezanna felt confusion and concern over the events that had recently transpired here in the Court. She was unsettled and she wanted nothing more than to understand. Why? What events had made this decision come to pass? So even as she wandered, she was restless. Once having a whole sky to call her playground, this was new to her. The idea that she could not go wherever she pleased.
She was not quick to forget the fact that even in her time here, she'd had yet to step foot outside Denocte, though she certainly would like to. Oftentimes when a decision is made for you, it is taking something from you, preventing something. Surely, there would be much time for her to "get out" as it were. The midnight woman knew very little of mortality, but she guessed she wouldn't simply drop dead one day. An inference, but an educated one at least.
In the meantime she would simply need to occupy her time from within the court. Jezanna had thought long and hard about whether there was anything she could do for these people who were now her fellow community, some who she might even consider friends. She didn't know that she had much to offer, but perhaps companionship and a hand was all that was needed. Perhaps just putting herself out there would help.
She passed doors that led to rooms she didn't know, faces she wasn't familiar with and corridors that would take her places she had never discovered before. Somewhere, in the crowd, in one of these rooms, in the court or the lands stretching beyond, were people she did know. Eidolon, the man she still tended to avoid for fear of lashing out at him. Aislinn, the stormsinger who had been her first introduction to this world. Rostislav, the warden who had spoken out at the meeting and in turn been spoken out against. Reichenbach, their curious king cloaked in shadows. She wondered what each of them was doing now.
"Speaking."
@Isorath Thought maybe he could see her and invite her in for tea?? Or something lol
