I've gone a million miles
With the same crooked smile
Home – he has not seen it in over four years.
She looks just the same as he remembers, and yet curiously different all at once. The fetid stench of the swamp still burns his nose in the most abhorrent way, the humidity still clings to his skin like a virus he can’t shake, especially with summer’s unreasonably high temperatures. His hooves threaten to sink into the soupy mud beneath him if he stands for too long, and so he presses on through the densely wooded area, the fog of the early morning making way for the crimson figure.
Eerie eyes of gold and black shift as they search, straining through the veil of fog for the things he remembers, for the things he knows must still be there; the symbols etched scrupulously into the bark of an old tree, painted crudely across the rocks, even the old trails he remembers using during his adolescence. Tinea Swamp was a place he had frequented during his time spent here many moons ago, for it had boasted many of the ingredients required for his teachings at the hospital as well as his personal research. He’d passed those old Ilati symbols countless times before, had witnessed some of their creation, so why can’t he find them now? They’re there, he’s sure, even though he struggles to find them now – perhaps the poison had tainted more than just his appearance.
Briefly, he stops at the water’s edge. Despite the intense fumes constantly rising up and wafting into his face, Atreus looks down into the depths which are far clearer than one might expect from a swampy bog. Where one’s eyes might narrow at the sight of his reflection, his is unchanging, taking in the differences both subtle and obvious between now and then. Much has happened in the span of his nearly five year absence, and idly he wonders if he’ll recognize anyone, if anyone that continued to reside in Terrastella will recognize him.
Truly, the half-blood doesn’t care either way – he’s merely curious – and after another moment of silent pondering, he abandons the musty pool behind him and heads south with the citadel on his mind.
ooc - Come and say hello to the Ilati poison master!! :D First posts with new characters are the literal worst - bear with me! <3
And I always give you all you need
But I can see that you're dancing with the devil
It was far too easy to be ensnared in the current travesty of the world, and even more so when the weight of the Court you called home rested so heavily upon your shoulders. For Somnus, this was no exception. The stress was insurmountable, the drive of his perfectionism nearly crippling, anxiety rising and overrunning his typically stoic and unflappable nature. So when Ipomoea had approached him and expressed the interests in brightening up Delumine with a festival, bringing their quiet streets to life with music, laughter, and art, Somnus had readily agreed to see it done. Anything for the distraction, really.
As it turned out, it was the best decision to have been made given the current world affairs.
Somnus felt the tension in his shoulders give way, ebbing from his body, down his legs, and out the bottom of his hooves as he relaxed amidst the shade. The iris and holly flower crown from Ipomoea sat perfectly amidst strands of ivory atop his poll, giving the Dawn King a softness that so typically was absent from his features. Perched upon his croup at her customary position, Alba looked incredibly pleased, beady black eyes crinkled in merriment. She, too, wore a crown of wildflowers, small and delicate enough to fit atop the barn owl’s head. Alba had been thrilled when Ipomoea had agreed to weave her a tiny crown, green holly woven among violet irises, to match Somnus’ own. It was an endearing sight, seeing her so happy and pleased.
Verdant eyes roamed the sights, taking in the laughing younglings and the mingling adults. A troupe of vocalists were singing nearby, keeping time and tempo with stamping hooves, and unaware, the dunalino bobbed his head in time with the melody. It was a jovial jaunt, perfect for the setting of Ipomoea’s prized vision. The scent of flowers and baked goods wafted on the breeze, and still, his worries continued to ebb away, the simplicity of the day pushing back his concerns and stresses until they were gone. Not forgotten, of course, but ignored. At least for now.
Then, a flash of golden tresses caught his attention, snatching the Dawn King from his silent reverie. Sunkissed locks, braided up with beautiful flowers surely by Ipomoea’s handiwork, framed Eulalie’s pretty pale face, and a fond smile upturned Somnus’ dark lips. For a few moments he simply watched her, admiring her heartfelt joy and compassion, the way she danced through the crowds and engaged among the people. She was becoming a constant in his life, this world-loving warrior that they luckily called their own, and without even aware of it, the tactician slipped from the shade to seek out the pale lady.
Sliding up to her side, verdant eyes glanced sidelong upon the proud warrior, still smiling. His body was free from tension, completely relaxed, letting himself drown within the atmosphere as he fell into motion aside Eulalie. Alba let out a happy chirrup, fluttering her wings upon her bond-mate’s croup.
’You keep running into her. I think you like it. Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?’ If it would not appear rude, Somnus would have scoffed at Alba’s words and rolled his eyes. Instead, he simply ignored the smug barn owl and focused on Eulalie.
“Enjoying yourself so far, my dear?” His voice was raised only slightly, only loud enough to be heard over the din of the chatter and nearby vocalists. Still, there was no missing the Sovereign’s soft joy, elated to see the people so readily enjoying themselves.
Upon leaving the stage, Raymond wasted no time seeing to the maintenance of his blade. The woodcarving process had dulled its edge and left sap residue clinging to its faces. His distaste at the thought burrowed far deeper than an expression of inconvenience, flirting with either obsession or near-Pavlovian levels of conditioning.
Luckily, it was simple enough work. Finding clean water among the refreshments required asking a couple of the revelers, and after retreating to an open space he was able to rinse the blade without a fuss. The sharpening was another matter, but in a pinch any decently-sized stone would do and there were plenty to be had.
Storytelling was an art form that the red stallion had taken to quite naturally in his youth, and he wondered at times if a different universe might have seen him become a bard rather than a soldier. Certainly for someone of his culture and upbringing, he harbored a surprising reluctance to engage others directly.
So why did he always show up in new places ahead of whispers of war like some brightly-colored storm crow?
He certainly had a knack for picking his paths.
Turning so he might catch a decent view of the stage as he worked and glancing around at the gathered masses for a glimpse of Florentine, who had accompanied him, Raymond began the well-practiced process of whetting his scythe against the stone he had elected for the purpose. The flower-crown still draped over his head swayed rhythmically with every stroke. It was difficult not to hum along to the long, sweeping strokes as he worked, but out of respect for the festival and the presentations of those that followed him he kept silent and sang the whetting song only with his eyes.
Raymond. and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
The world had transformed before her. From the brief kiss of the sun, to the darkness, the night taking claim to the sky – and with it, the risen moon. The mare couldn’t tell who or what she enjoyed more, the warmth of the day-sun or the stillness of the night? The cool touch of silver light, to the harsh and penetrating heat of the sun? A small smile curled her dark lips as she pushed further, onwards to the keep ahead. Even in these dark and trying times for the court she had grown to love deeply for, Lyra still found beauty here. So much more different than the homeland she had been born into, the lands there often decaying with death and war. The very idea of a conflict coming here left her afraid..but not the cowardly afraid as she might have been long ago. No..afraid of the beauty and family she had made here to be forever lost.
But that had been then, in the land without sustenance. Where all beasts, equine alike, fought and clamored for all and everything; like a poison, infecting the very soil with their blood – cursing the earth with dry and unfertile ground. Where brother and kin laid waste to the eternal churning of a doomed world. And that of a world where she had left behind a precious gift, a regret she carried with her for all of her days. She hoped her child was alright wherever her daughter might be.
It brought an uneasy sigh to her lips; too worn, too tired to delve in the past. Despite what information she had been given on her travels, there was an unyielding sense of doom at her back. Lyra was unsure if the feeling would pass, but the sight of her new home eased the anxious stir inside of her chest. The stone of the keep appeared to glow with the moon just ahead, showering the structure with a welcoming aura.
The sight itself was incredibly foreign and magical for the young woman, yet not so since this was her home now. As a child she could only afford mere glimpses into worlds harboring massive columns, smooth stone and archways. Reliant on the song’s archaic tongues riddled behind ancient stories – straining to bear some truth amidst the clumsy changes of each age. Her childish fantasy did not compare to the real thing.
Her bright, silver eyes had not yet found any others in the vicinity. Spurred on by the ethereal sight, for the keep was not only wonderfully crafted; it was alive with lush foliage. Lyra held her breath for a moment as she passed the entrance. The sound of her hooves, cascading from the solid mass of marble – or perhaps some other stone – as she wandered aimlessly into the keep. Her thoughts wandered to the last few days, the gates closing, the court meeting. It was all..very stressful to say the least. A soft sigh left her lips, the court was divided and as champion she felt such pressure to bring it back together. And she didn't know how.
A performance on the main stage had drawn the majority of the crowds from the booths lining the trees and the flowered meadow. From where Eulalie stood, it appeared to be some sort of dance accompanied by a simple instrumental bit of music. The golden haired woman had been watching the stage from a distance, enjoying the presentations put on by Delumine natives and visitors alike. She had nothing of her own to share, no particular talent to show off, but she would give each her full attention and praise.
For the time being, Eulalie had made her way toward a stand she had yet to visit. Set up by none other than the ringleader of this festival, Ipomoea appeared to be fashioning flower crowns for one and all, not so unlike his own. She recalled the man as being Emissary, turned Regent upon Somnus' claim to the crown, but like many she did not know him well at all. With the lull in traffic, the sunshine woman made her way to his booth, glancing over the crowns he had crafted before offering him a warm smile.
"Hello Ipomoea, I was hoping I could steal your attention for moment," she posed the request with shining earth colored eyes and a slight tilt of her head. She was sure he had absolutely no idea who she was, but regardless, she would change that. "I'm afraid crowns don't befit me, do you think you could work your magic on my braid instead?" Her head turned slightly, exposing the braid that fell down the side of her neck and tamed the majority of her gilded curls, keeping them away from her face and exposing freckled ivory skin.
"My name is Eulalie, warrior of the Dawn Court. Congratulations on your regency," Eulalie referred to, of course, the meeting that had been held to announce the changes to the sovereignty of the court. Though she had not been as vocal as the others, nor one of the many vying for his then vacated position, she had been standing amongst the gathered crowd. "I'm afraid I have been living in Delumine far too long to know so few, and I thought what better an occasion to get to know my new family than a festival?" She laughed lightly and smiled thoughtfully, "You have done an amazing job putting it together."
@Ipomoea Eulalie just immediately loves everyone from Delumine lol
Could've built a garden from all the flowers that you gave me
· · ·
For the first time he is content in Novus.Nights beside his friends had eased the anxiety from Terrastella and he isn’t riding between each day on a tidal wave of nerves and constricted breaths. Instead, he is wandering the beauties of Night Court, weaving stardust through his blush hair and reveling in the high that life has thrown at him. He is at peace. Jude cannot ask for anything more than that. Today his hair hangs freely, being gently rustled by the warm winds of summer. He remains blissfully unaware of the unrest, of the tension spreading like a poison through Denocte at the closing of the gates. The rose won’t torture himself with such thoughts. Today is one he has set aside for his art.
Jude wanders the marketplace of Denocte, utterly daunted by the massiveness of it all. Of course he has seen markets, back in the safety of Vectaeryn and even in the other lands he’s stumbled on in his journeys. Something about it all is so daunting he can’t fathom it all. Mittens weaves through the feet of other equines.
”You’re going to get stepped on,” Jude warns to the feline as she dances at the feet of an impressively large percheron. The last thing he wishes to do is mend the broken foot of his familiar.
”I am more agile than you, so hush,” Miottens responds as she weaves right before a large hoof can trample the length of her tail. Jude gives her a long look and the feline concedes. She returns to his side and merely walks beside his far daintier appendages. Jude then turns his attention to a stand selling vibrant scented perfumes.
”Everything about this place is so magical,” Jude whispers and can’t help but lower his nostrils to take in the sweet scents.
A stifling summer wind whipped its way along the day court streets, kicking up sand as it went, twisting and twirling around corners and down alleyways. Teiran moved along the sand covered roads like a shadow, silent and smoothly, unbothered by the grit that was flung against her body by the breeze. It was quiet, silence stretching along every wall and through every hall. There was little movement, little activity, and the hovering solitude suited her just fine.
Most of the nobles had probably hidden themselves away in their homes, lavishing themselves in their fineries away from the mid-afternoon sun lest their skin be damaged or they themselves perspire in the heat. Still, many others clung to the shadows, darkening the ends of alleys with their blackmarket trades and questionable intentions. Teiran’s sage eyes took everything in with the barest of flickers, subtle sideways glances and a twist of her ear here and there. She observed completely without ever looking like she observed at all.
Though the court recovers, the people recover, there will always be lingerings of the transgressions against them in wearied, wary eyes and scoured walls. Keen as the serpentine girl was meant she had seen the blue fire that had risen from the pass to Denocte and she wondered: what transgression had befallen their neighbors of night? So long as it was no threat for her home and her people, she had little unease of the situation though she would be wrong to admit she had no curiosity at all.
Teiran paused alongside a fountain, dipping her head to drink from the crystalline water. Its mist brought a coolness to the air that soaked up some of the swelter brought upon them by the sun as it nipped at the backs. Solterra carried so much unforgiveness within it that it was no wonder why Solis’ people were hardened as they were. Though, perhaps, that had been changing in recent weeks. The rose hued warrior’s ears latched onto the sound of approaching steps, and her eyes slid over the reflection of another as she finished drinking and straightened to meet their arrival.
Her face was scrunched in concentration, using her telekinesis to drive the knife’s tip into the tree she was currently working on. It was partially covered in the symbols unique to the Ilati, each one done with as much precision as could be afforded her from the ground. She closed one eye, leaning her head in the direction that she desired (as if that would help her really). She had been at this most of the morning, though she had barely finished the first one she had been working on the day before. She took great pride in the carving work that she did, and did not see the harm in making sure that everything was perfect.
She recalled the first time she’d been taught to carve, her best friend teasing her for the way one of her symbols looked. He’d said it looked like a fat electric catfish when it had been something else entirely. She huffed a chuckle at the memory, the knife’s point pulling back from the bark as she admired her work. Her dark body was sheened in a light sweat, the sunlight dappling across her back as it made an effort to break through the trees above.
The moss made a gentle rustle as a rare summer breeze blew through, taking with it a few wisps of her dark hair that she had to tuck back into place. It was a particularly warm summer’s day, even the swamp water elevated in temperature a few degrees from its normal. Rhea brought the knife down, carefully, from its height and sheathed it before replacing it in her bag. She rummaged through it, the clinking of bottles mixing with the rustling of her dried herbs that she kept with her. They were mostly good for things like headaches and the ilk, but she liked to keep some things on hand with her when she was traversing the swamp.
She found the small pot of white paint that she had been looking for and began to carefully trace the correct symbols with the corresponding colors. A similar vial of blood was waiting to be added next, before she added a blessing to it with herbal smokes. The blessing was not a required step, but she found more joy in it that way.
Posted by: Jaxis - 05-04-2018, 12:27 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
JAXIS
HANDS STEEPED IN BLOOD
Oh oh oh. The plains were so... plain weren't they? Even in the sharp summer heat, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, save for perhaps herself. A striking black and white creature with horns of purple and eyes of the same hue, almost sharp, glowing. They were dark and bright all at once, keenly flickering to and fro as she stepped out on to the plains, and shook herself from head to hoof.
Even at only two years old, she had grown in to her more adult body, a tall creature that still fell short of her father's massive height.
It seemed, however, she wasn't destined to be alone for long, as a figure came in to her line of view, and her ears perked forward, horned head swinging to face them. A creature of pink and softness, something that made her suck her teeth and lower her ears in agitation. Of course.
Wander away from the Day Court and you run in to the pansies of the rest of the world. The weaklings that frolicked in the flowers and preached peace when there would be no true peace. No true rulers stood in these lands, and she felt a heavy breath come in, before she blew it out in a snort, narrowing her eyes.
"You are just about the most delicate looking feminine creature I've ever seen." It was not a compliment, clearly, and she seemed agitated that she was remotely in the same area as this one.. whatever they were. Scaled, horns, cloven hooves, a lot of hair. Not a horse, really, not a unicorn, not a pegasus. Something.. else.
Well, he had certainly stopped and gotten a flower crown from the lovely Ipomea, glad to meet the Regent once more as they had talked back and forth while the man had woven flowers together. In the end, he ended up with a regal crown of red roses and white orchids, each carefully placed in positions that could keep them out of harm's way as much as possible.
Now he merely lingered about the festival, a little uneasy if only because he wasn't sure what to say or what to do with anyone. It felt so strange, being so nervous, and he shook his head tenderly, blinking milky eyes and pausing, well aware there were eyes on him, on his scars. Carefully, he turned his head away, exhaling and walking among others. Here and there he greeted them as old friends would, pleased to meet some that didn't stare at him.
It didn't take long for him to lapse in to his more royal persona, taking up his position of Emissary and becoming the political creature he had been raised to be. Here and there, he greeted warmly, smiling, becoming more at ease, allowing himself to slip in to his own thoughts while he could.
At least, until there was a flash of gold, and he paused, flicking and ear and turning himself a little, his horned head lifting and --- "Somnus," he greeted. A smile flickered to his lips, his eyes roaming the familiar man, finding themselves on that chiseled face, admiring him.
