She was a roseate shadow against the splendour of Delumine's festivities - decorated by those window-wide eyes to drink in the laughter and the floral perfume of happiness. Here, in these wild meadows and everlong forests, the world felt brighter, clearer. The sky overhead seemed to sing; harmonised by marshmallow clouds that drifted leisurely across the great wilderness of blue - a hymn to beckon the flowers closer to the sun - flowers that she had caressed with tiny, soft hands. Colours danced across the canvas of the Deluminian earth: scarlet, ultramarine, emerald - all pieces of a memory she would never forget: the first time she realised she was home.
Denocte had been a chasm, filled with dark faces and darker secrets, and in the perpetual darkness she had wept. Her anguish had been the colour of nightshade - bruised and wicked - and though her tears fell only when she knew the world was sleeping, the pain of smiling at her father when within she felt she might drown was an anchor a child could only bear for so long. Because Sabi would never have let him down - not Raum, not her Papa, not her wraith, and so she had borne the weight of her sorrow alone; condemned to the night like a match set to burn.
And so, too, she had heard the tales of Solterra. Her mother's stories had hung around her neck like an aureate noose; dragging her down into a coffin tattooed upon her nightmares. For what hope could she glean from the legends of endless heat and cracked, hungry deserts? Her heart had shrank at the sight of Rhoswen's fervor, fearing what might loom out of the volcanic mire in those glittering grey eyes; how could she ever hope to rival her mother's faith in the sun? Little earthy Sabine - child of nothing, daughter of a void born from two tortured souls. Would she dare to challenge Solis for her mother's love? No - not Sabine, not she.
For Sabine was the gentle lilt of an autumn breeze; the first glimpse of pale coral light upon a brilliant blue sky; the rustle of dying leaves as they fall from majesty on high. She was the earth underfoot, silent and perennial.
And so it was, that the sparrow-boned girl watched the festival from afar; gazing at white grins and dancing eyes with a fascination that seemed to spread through her blood like a shot of some weak foreign wine. She felt warmth, only warmth, and then - the parting of her blush-tipped lips to stretch into a smile of her own; a private moment, one that she would cherish for years to come. Finally, there was peace in her little beating heart.
Summer isn't summer without the smell of rain, as the Sun dipped low over the horizon, the very sky wept in relief. Fine drops made to mist manes and drip daintly from whiskers, the kind of rain one laid by the window and watched wistfully with soft eyes.
It curled ink and mist strands as Neha flew through the night, a star made of night, ivory and gypsy gold. A picture of Denocte's natural beautiful, fierce and beguiling, she is serene as she dipped and swirled through the clouds. An effortless dancer whose performed for those who kept their gazes skyward. Inside, her heart hammers, wildly it fluttered against her white boned breast as anticipation skittered down her spine. It branched, as the lightning forked in the heart of the storm, into her veins and energized her blood.
This is a reunion she has longed for, after all, what is time between sisters but a promise of meeting again? A separation which allowed them to come together, stronger than before. She cannot keep the grin off of her pale maw as finally, finally, the Night Court's flickering fire light comes into focus. Warm and soft, illuminating the water which clung to stone and flora alike.
She's in there, an excited part of her rasped. It has been too long, comes the next breath. She had missed her when the Crow King and the Maiden had visited, somewhere else, preoccupied with another task which had come at an inopportune moment. But there are no duties now, to keep them from this, and it took her all to keep herself together as her golden hooves reached out to touch damp stone.
Neha alighted with all the grace of a warrior, precise as a dancer's toe upon the stage. Her wings folded anxiously to her sides as she hurried into the stone arch, her hair curled and clinging wetly to her neck and shoulders. Her gold glinted in the firelight, raindrops shimmering in the light's embrace as her own inferno gaze peered out.
"Stormsinger?" She cannot contain the excited lilt to her accented voice now, as it echoed through the stone and wood, deeper and deeper into the Palace she drew. It is hard to keep the traditional face of a Rahliah born and raised a warrior, even if this one is the rain and wind made flesh and blood. In this moment she is a sister looking for a sister, cast to opposite ends through fate and destiny who have finally managed to find their way back to one another. "Aislinn?"
AND OH THOSE NIGHT RAINS,
THEY SING SO SWEETLY IN THESE QUIET HOURS
OF GLORY WON AND LOST
OF LOVERS WHO WERE PROMISED STARS,
AND ALL THEY GOT WAS DUST
Posted by: Reichenbach - 05-09-2018, 05:10 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
sometimes bad guys make the best good guys
A hot summer sun flared against his back, bringing out the subtleties of crimson and mahogany within Reichenbach's dark skin as he stepped purposefully through the Prairie. The closing of the Gates had made him just as uncomfortable as everyone else, despite his attempts to appear calm and collected — he didn't like being stuck in one place.
Though admittedly he could not ask for a better prison.
Denocte was wild and beautiful and as free as she had always been. The Lake still whispered as it was kissed by the breeze, its depths still lay uncharted and unknown... the magic and wonder of his home had not dwindled in any way. Whether the Gates lay open or closed, that would never change. He had not come to the Prairie to think of the Gates, though. He'd come to collect herbs and medicines for the Healers, if only so that his hands would be busy.
*His lashes brushed the rough planes of his cheeks as he searched for the little purple flowers that grew so extensively through the rolling hills — Bee Balm and Blue Vervain, though the names meant very little to him. He'd never been very good at healing... he was too chaotic, too rough.. and his mind wandered and found itself lost too easily. There was a certain peace and calm that a healer had to possess, and he did not have it.
Still... gathering flowers was a pleasant enough activity, and wonderfully lonesome. While he was prepared to listen to the concerns of his people, he did not quite have the patience that their Champion of Community had.
*There! Reichenbach strode to a particularly thick-spread patch of purple, eyeing the blooming flower and trying to remember which it was — Bee Balm or Vervain. Both were required... so after a moment he started collecting the dainty flower, using his telekinesis to tuck the plant into a satchel he had borrowed from the kitchen.
@Vaella a chance for them to meet and earn some EXP! *Sections marked with a star mark exp earning sections of post xx
The sun dipped low as Raymond and Asterion crossed back into Terrastellan territory, their shadows grown long in their wake like obedient, stilt-legged wraiths. The copper stallion's customary swagger lacked its usual smoothness and he made no effort to hide the hitches in his step as he tested the limits of his bruised chest. There was no shame in acknowledging a blow well struck.
And there was no way in hell he was going to waste the energy it would cost him to conceal it merely for the sake of his pride. Raymond was not so delicate as that.
When he stopped walking, the open prairie lay before them like a sea of sunkissed gold and the forested border was behind. What he felt for Sussuro Fields fell far short of fondness: its relentlessly open spaces drew a funereal shroud of artificial silence that each errant chirp and syllable struggled in vain to fill like water through a kitchen strainer. It seemed like a place made for dying.
Was that bias talking?
Raymond swiveled his head toward the star-marked boy. His expression surrendered none of this, comfortably straddling the line between serenity and boredom that inspires in some the desire to be interesting and in others the desire to be brief. His eyes glinted with sunset fire - those, at least, were alive and engaged in the moment. His tail twitched as he chewed on his own consideration. To business, then.
"It's a long way here from Velius," he said, perhaps surprisingly jumping straight past an appraisal of their recent performance to sink his teeth into the heart of things, "with an interesting story to match, I bet. I'd love to hear it."
Raymond. and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
The gates were closed, and behind them were his mother, his brother. The gates were locked, and Araxes stayed behind, but Cynix refused to be trapped by his own court, by his own regime. For 'safety' they had said, yet he never felt more unsafe in a land when there were others that whispered sharp words behind his back and glared daggers in to him.
Old prejudices were surfacing again, and he had left them behind. He refused to sink in to that again.
Instead, Cynix had turned toward the Day Court. Dusk was where he would settle, he knew that much, but there was no harm in visiting his father and sister, was there? Granted, the Solterrans were known as warriors and he was a soft hearted young man, but that didn't stop him from braving the dry lands, his hooves kicking up dust behind him as he made his way to the court itself. Perhaps if he could speak to them... the Regime, perhaps something could be done, could be settled.
It wasn't as if the Regime were attacking Denocte, it was isolated incidents, wasn't it? Couldn't the two Sovereigns talk? He wasn't sure how it would work but it was better than sheltering behind closed gates like a bunch of children with a sign outside saying 'no outsiders allowed!' in big and bold letters.
All the same, he came to a standstill when his hooves brushed against harder surface, his head lifting and wings splaying to release the heat that had built up. It was sweltering here, but he expected no less from them.
For hours, the only living things around are these: flowers violent in blooming, trees bent at the waist with knotted skin and quietly moving leaves, and honeybees with their low aureate hum.
Then, under the quiet summer sun, Delumine blossoms. Girls in silk and chiffon go whirling through the meadows; boys laze in the heat, sprawled for miles like an army as they crush the new green grass. Harps and flute float from over the hills. For once, it seems as though Novus is at peace with itself. Denoctans and Solterrans intermingle over steaming cups of tea. Merchants set up stalls up and down the cobblestone, selling all kinds of wares to all kinds of people. In the shade of old oak trees, huge groups of people gather, the tone of their conversations oscillating in carefully timed response to the chaos around them.
When Bexley Briar emerges into the heart of Woodstock, she is quietly abnormal. Her usual scowl is gone, replaced by a look of cool, pleasant interest; her gaze is dulcet rather than bitter; around her head rests a crown of waxy light-pink dahlias and intricately woven greenery, a glut of bright color against those bleached curls. In the light she is a slippery thing, a fish underwater, gold and white and blue and pink moving soundlessly through the crowded markets, the pockets of people, the lush, flower-freckled grass. And for once she is utterly unconcerned with the crowd around her - rather than with judgmental interest, she regards the other visitors placidly, happily, even.
A good day has come to her, finally.
She will not take it for granted. No, today is for flowers and fairy lights, for feeling-better that lasts more than a moment. She buys a new necklace - a thin drip of gold, encasing, at the end, a tiny, teardrop opal - slips it over her neck, clasps it tight and moves on, giddy to feel normal again, to feel sated, for a moment, by a material possession. A memory of her childhood returned. A simple day come back to her, and Bexley swallows it greedily, sinks her claws in deep and won’t let it go, traversing the streets with unbridled enthusiasm, humming and flirting and dancing in the white-hot sunlight, petals soft and saturated in her hair, glittering gold and white, a once-again-living being.
Her scar still attracts stares, but Bexley wills herself not to mind. And mostly, it works.
She’s gazing at a collection of ribbons when something familiar sounds behind her - a well-known voice saying something about card tricks, a voice that brings fire to mind immediately. Should she freeze? Run? Scream? Her body tenses for a moment, inexplicably, and Bexley forces herself to throw off that cloak of fear, to disintegrate her own aura of shame. Instead, she smiles. A wolfish thing at odds with the pleasantness of her current state. She turns, one hoof over the next, to look at him, and tilts her head: clicks her tongue in a mockery of maternal disappointment, curls brushing her shoulder, crown still in its place, absolute mirth playing over her face.
Acton, she drawls with a dead-eyed smirk. What a nice surprise.
The summer sun beats down mercilessly upon my back. My neck, flanks, and barrel are sweaty. My nostrils flare as I try to catch my breath, to calm the storm. I've been running through the prairie in the midday heat, trying to somehow get my thoughts flowing through simple physical exertion. Thoughts, feelings... they're a blur. Ever since last night...
Last night when I both gave and received a tongue lashing. Last night when I stood angrily against friends, my King. Upon leaving the meeting, Damaris and I had run through the night together. At break of dawn we parted ways. Both of us needed to cool off and we only fed off the other's anger. Though I still feel our connection, it's softer, more tenuous. Distance has brought us quiet. But even in this quiet, the voice in my head is so loud.
Reichenbach, Aislinn, even Isorath. 'You just publically stabbed them in the back. You deserved the things they said about you.' The sun's bright rays are a stark contrast to my mood, the pain that claims my heart. I was trying to take a stand for what I thought was right. Their accusations struck home, and it occurred to me then that perhaps I am overly hypocritical. The blame is still there and yet...
I look behind toward the Court proper. I hope that I can find Aislinn soon. The hurt in her eyes stung me more than anything, especially that - besides announcing the closing of the gates - I found no fault with her. I want to apologize, to make up. Perhaps it’s only my selfish need to alleviate the guilt I feel. But the meeting has stirred my thoughts and I want to run them by her.
What have you done Rostislav? What goodness have you laid waste to?
The gates were closed, and behind them were his mother, his brother. The gates were locked, and Araxes stayed behind, but Cynix refused to be trapped by his own court, by his own regime. For 'safety' they had said, yet he never felt more unsafe in a land when there were others that whispered sharp words behind his back and glared daggers in to him.
Old prejudices were surfacing again, and he had left them behind. He refused to sink in to that again.
So instead, he stepped forward, finding himself once more in the hold of the Dusk Court. It was a place he found that no one stared at him, and maybe.. perhaps, better than home. He felt a bit strange, really, but he found it comforting, and he stepped himself forward, wings fluttering on either side of his head.
Comfort rolled over him, and he turned his head, his mane fluttering as he walked, the braids brushing against him, rubbing over his nape, his side. He wasn't sure who he would bump in to here, perhaps Asterion once more? Perhaps a new face? Either way, maybe he could find someone that could grant him temporary sanctuary within these walls. At least until things cleared up between Denocte and Solterra.
The beach was a loud place in the summer, with birds above cawing and crying out, and the waves roaring. They clamored up onto the shore in rushes of water, ebbing back away, but this wasn't what she had come for.
Rather, she made her way toward a certain cliff wall, where a decaying carcass lay. It was mostly down to bone now, but she knew her father's handywork, and she observed a moment, tilting her head. He had done this, for her mother. For Araxes? The mare she had hardly known but saw when she came around, the mare she loved. Her mother. Maybe it was something she could understand; she'd tear someone apart to keep her mother safe.
Jaxis lingered only for a moment or two more, her ears flicking forward before she turned herself away from the body, making her way along the beach instead. Her tall frame was buffeted by the salty air, and it stung at her nose, but she merely kept walking, leaving the prints behind her as she did. Each step left behind a deep gouge in the sandy grains, and she found herself lost in the rhythm of her own steps, feeling oddly at... peace.
Aim, throw your best shot right at me
'Cause pain, I can take it easily
Did you really think I'd fall to my knees
Just to pray for some sweet simplicity?
Once more, Delumine bustles with festivities. The aroma of sweets hangs heavily in the air, intertwining with the songs carried on the light breeze and the soft murmur of those who had traveled far and wide to delight in their newest celebration. The atmosphere itself was enough to raise one’s spirits, in particular Ulric’s. Although there wasn’t anything really wrong with Delumine’s Warden, surrounding himself with in the company of others for the next several nights, even if only in passing, sounded worlds better than wandering the forests by himself as he did every other night. Relaxation wasn’t something that the roan often indulged in, but for once, the temptation was growing ever stronger.
But celebration or not, he had a duty to uphold. There were visitors to inspect and greet as they entered the heart of Delumine, his critical eye searching each for the most subtle sign of ill-intent. Of course, there had been none so far and there likely wouldn’t be, but Ulric would be damned if he let his guard down. A single moment was all it would take for disaster to strike – it was the Warden’s job to make sure he was the only one worried of such things happening.
Standing near the stage where the action was to be hosted, Ulric stood vigilant, counting the familiar faces amongst the crowd – so far he had spotted the likes of Somnus, Eulalie, Ipomoea and Orion, as well as a couple he didn’t recognize. Foolishly he found himself waiting for the likes of Florentine or Aislinn, those he considered his closest friends outside of his friendship with Somnus, and perhaps even Rostislav, the Denoctean man whom he hadn’t seen since his initial arrival to Delumine. Inhaling deeply, Ulric chases the distracting thoughts from his warrior’s mind and then exhales just as steadily, expelling them completely.
The night had only just begun, and he would need to remain focused throughout it.
ooc - somebody save Ulric and show him how to have fun :'D
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