He think he might hate her. Every step beneath the unrelenting sun was a torture, yet she had asked to meet in the oasis and so, he went. It was, at least, a little easier in Winter than in the Summer. All too fast he had forgotten the ferocity of the summer sun and so cursed the Winter one just as fervently.
It felt like time slowed, ticking his time away in the desert more languidly. But at last he reached the Oasis, its glittering pools a mirage to his sun-drenched eyes. Gods he missed his dagger, his scarf – even if the very idea of a scarf was stifling in this heat.
Quicksilver slick, he moves towards the water’s edge and drinks. It is there that he sees her reflection, perfect beneath a tree’s shade. Was there even a part of her that did not thrive beneath Solterra’s light? A breath, a resigned sigh, slips past his lips.
Sated, the Crow draws back from the water’s edge, his cobalt blue eyes never leaving the flames of her skin, the wildness of her eyes. Their confessions still stir in the air between them, pressing out against his skin like razor kisses. Oh there was nothing simple about he and his fire-born girl.
He does not need to look around him to know there are few others who dared to make the journey out to the oasis this day, so when he reaches her, his lips lower, smoothing along the line of her brow. Oh she burns him, sets him alight to mold as she pleases. His lips are lit like coals and there is nothing that can cool him. It is a surprise when he exhales and he does not breath smoke like a dragon.
“You called for me?” The Crow asks as he stands above her, consumed in the shadow of her tree, drinking in their surroundings. A Crow’s instincts will never leave him, he remains on edge, even as he stands above her, lost in the scent of her too-hot skin.
@Rhoswen <3 <3 What is this? Raum being affectionate? Excuse me whilst I die of shock ;)
Somnus lifted his head from where he had been rooting around within the growing grasses of the mountain foothills, keen verdant eyes peering up at the hovering barn owl just above his head. He focused on the flowers that were clutched within sharp talons, narrowing in assessment. The flowers that had been found were long and blue with hard stems, but did not match the sketches in the books of the Dawn Court library. They were definitely not the kind that he was searching for. The new King of Delumine gave a thoughtful frown before shaking his head apologetically.
“I’m afraid not, Alba. Best try again.” The barn owl seemed to sigh in disappointment as she let the incorrect prairie flowers drop from her grasp before wheeling about in the sky, off to attempt to find the correct flowers that had brought them here in the first place. That would mark her third failed attempt at finding the correct flowers. Somnus, of course, was fairing no better.
Call it foolish curiosity, but the pair had come to the foothills of the Arma Mountains in search for two flowers that grew specifically in Denocte. Dabbling in the culinary arts as he did, Somnus had been curious of the teas he could possibly brew from the Alpine Forget-Me-Not and the Common Wood Sorrel, but despite their best efforts, it seemed that equine nor owl could find either of the elusive blooms. Were they even in the right area? Was it too early in the year for the flowers to be blooming? The texts had stated, rather explicitly, that both flowers could be found in Denocte around the Arma Mountains, and that the flowers and stems could be brewed into a delicious tea. As a purveyor of fine teas and coffees, both of which were a simple pleasure to the golden tactician, he could not simply pass up the opportunity to try it for himself.
Unfortunately, the said flowers did not wish to cooperate. They had spent all day searching for the wayward blooms and were no closer to finding their quarry. Lifting his head, Somnus’ gazed traveled to the sun in the sky, squinting against the evening light as he gave a mighty stretch, the joints in his wings popping from having been furled in his search. It was a warm spring day and the sunlight was pleasant and welcome, but they only had a few hours until dusk. Their search would be cut off for another night, where they would pick it back up tomorrow… Unless they could find what they were searching for first.
The Dawn King gave a grunt of displeasure before shaking his head. “… Not bloody likely, at this rate.”
The ground isn't quite thawed, thank goodness. Or I'd be sinking knee deep in the swamp muck. I keep my head low, trying to watch for any spots that are weak beneath me. Damaris seems to be doing a good job of finding the way, and I watch her as much as the ground. She's led me here to the Tinea Swamp, not that I've come unwillingly. I know her intentions and, subconsciously, I agree with her. There's shit going down and you haven't seen Weir in months. You need to figure this shit out. I nod at her reasoning.
There's much I missed, and Weir's apparent absence is part of the reason I left in the first place. I had thought we were building something together. A future. But then she disappeared. Maybe it wasn't meant to be the way I thought it was. Maybe she knew all along and I was too blind to see it. Different realms, different worlds? With all the madness that apparently is going on between Dusk and Night -- goddamnit Reich! -- it makes it even harder to see Weir. Or even to look for her. I may not be Sovereign, I may not be Emissary, but I can have a chat with Florentine and see what's going on.
So through the Swamp we go, hugging the edges by the Terminus Sea. It's dangerous business trespassing through the Bellum Steppe and over to Terrastella. But I feel like it needs to happen. Don't take credit for my good ideas, Rostislav. I chuckle and continue through the semi-frozen slop. Thank God I've sobered up enough now - enough - that I can have an adult conversation. I want to call out for Florentine, but that might not be the best idea if it attracts unwanted attention. Instead I'll just have to keep looking for her and hope no one tries to take me out in the meantime. Even better if I happen to find Weir along the way.
- - - - -
I DO NOT BELIEVE THINGS ARE REBORN IN FIRE I BELIEVE THEY'RE CONSUMED BY FIRE
- - - - -
He awakens to the smell of ash. For a moment he thinks he's dead, swallowed in the flames with his loved ones. The excitement wakes him and his heart is off, racing away before his brain has the chance to blink and stretch and piece his thoughts together. Soon enough the memories trickle back, and with it the familiar sense of resigned despair. He raises his head from the ground (funny- he doesn't remember ever lying down) and labors to his feet with little to no grace. He grunts with the effort, feeling older than ever, and then winces as the hangover rears its nasty head.
When the nausea passes he looks around. Small fires smolder here and there, but most of them have burnt themselves out. They and the trampled ground are all that remains of the festivities from the night before- a small miracle- and
(a memory rolls in: across the fire, green eyes carefully place their empties in a row. In their gaze endless summer and roots to the core of the earth. Where did the green eyed time of year go?)
Eik shakes the sleep from his head. He takes his time this morning- days like these, reacquainting yourself with your body is no small feat. Without thinking too much about it he makes his way to the ocean, washes the sweat and smoke and winter from him, washes the spilled wine from his lips and chest, and if there are other, nameless things that he washes himself clean of... well, those too are carried away. In the end he feels a little lighter, and the world less hard to look at. A little salt and cold water does wonders.
With much of the headache chased away by the cold shock of the ocean, he feels a bit more like himself. It is late afternoon by the time he finally makes it to the court. He feels a bit anxious- maybe he should have just gone straight back to Solterra- but when he thinks of the bay man and the sea a certain feeling comes over him. Most of the time he feels like the branches of a tree, swept whichever way the wind blows. But sometimes- sometimes he feels as though he is not at the mercy of the wind or the gods or anyone.
... But that is simply the drama that blooms from time to time in his chest, the violent waves of emotion that are followed by the smooth, flat-of-the-blade calm. He leans on this calm to ignore the occasional pointed stares... even freshly cleansed by the sea, the Terrastellans somehow know that he comes from Solterra. Or at least that he comes from elsewhere.
In time he finds the man he seeks. They see each other at the same time, and Eik drags his feet to a halt. He regards the man with head tilted, examining the bay for any change in him since they first met.
"Hello friend." That word firm and warm as a handshake. It feels odd now, seeing Asterion within the walls of his court, strangers passing in the background like fish darting along the reef. But still the cerulean sky is above them and a fresh breeze blows and Terrastella is shy but welcoming to the scarred grey stallion; there is a balance.
Since parting ways with Kasil, Somnus has known exactly who he had wished to speak with first about the matter. It simply came down to finding the joyful Emissary. Delumine was changing, and they needed to be prepared. The command had shifted, the mantle of Dawn King now resting upon his shoulders. It was a heavy weight, one that he did not feel worthy of, but one that he knew he would not need to carry alone. The tactician would do whatever it took to see that his Court was well taken care of, that they would want for nothing, but he could not do it alone. He would need help, and while the list was remarkably small, Somnus knew best who could help him tend to the needs of his Court.
His Court? No, no… It was not his Court as much as he was theirs. He was their servant. His body was their vessel, a means to do their bidding. A means to keep them safe. That had been his promise.
Having stepped out into the courtyard, Somnus’ eyes had wandered until they had spotted Ipomoea standing amidst the blooming hedges and flower bushes. Alba fluttered from her perch upon his rump, silently taking to the skies and darting about the spotted fellow, clacking her beak in loud pops! to get the Emissary’s attention, before wheeling about in the air to return to her roost. Somnus’ eyes remained upon the Emissary, waiting and watching for his reaction.
When their eyes met, keen emerald meeting joyful magenta, Somnus gathered his strength to offer the Emissary a kind smile. It was an honest expression at least, sincere despite his trepidation, but noticeably strained. This was not a happy visit between friends, as much as Somnus wished otherwise. Would that it could be so easy…
“I had hoped that I would find you out here, good Po,” the golden murmured by way of greeting, deciding to jump straight into it. No point in dawdling, and Somnus was never the type to beat around the bush, anyway. Oriens’ beard, had Kasil even told this kind hearted young man about his thoughts of leaving Delumine behind? “... There’s been a development, and if you’ve the time, I need to speak to you. Urgently.”
What would Ipomoea say? How would he react? They were amicable, certainly. Somnus would even dare to say they might be friends, or, at the very least, almost be to that point… But Po was fiercely loyal to Kasil. Would he trust Somnus’ words as true? That Kasil had passed the crown to him? That the Regent hadn’t acted a traitor and usurped their beloved King? No. Please, stars above, no.
Please let him listen to reason and truth. They needed each other now more than ever.
@Ipomoea - Something short and quick to get us started <3
In the first breaths of spring, a witch curls into the shadows. She is uncommonly found in the wee hours of early morning, long before the kiss of dawn rises on the horizon. Night's darkness holds her, cradling the witch where she walks in the thick of trees expanding over neutral lands. Calligo's embrace is a foreign one, a more unpredictable finger tracing her cheek when compared to Orien's divinity. But then again.. witch's have never been afraid of the darkness. They are born from it, revel in it. Even now, she is the monster that lies in wait, cocooned in the shadows under a starless sky. All she needs is her immortality to return.
In the gathering dark, she slithers from the tree line, picking her way through an outcropping of stones. The lonely mountain rises above her; a stark slab of rock that reaches heavensward like a closed fist. She almost finds the stairs that steeply climb to the temple hidden at the mountain's peak, but she turns away. Instead, the witch slips along the uneven stones, the soft glow of the crystal at her throat the only light born in the night goddess' shadows.
The flare of her power burns, a yawning dragon upon the precious gold of her second Sight. She aches for her lost immortality, but she cannot help but be grateful that at least one half of her gifts have found herself once more. The last time she had been upon this mountain, she had found herself lost within a shaman's cruel joke of maze. In the end, she had departed with her prize — a relic of opalescent, ancient power that now hides on a cord tied under the wilds of her mane. With it, she has become a Seer once more; just enough that the taste of her once-godly existence has rested upon her tongue. Now, she longs for agelessness.. just before she burns this world to ash and dust, finally able to return to her home among the stars above.
She is nearly there in her quest for power and immortality.. blind to her determination, just as she is half blind to the mortal realm.
The witch welcomes the deepening dark, as her lips curl into the shadows and smoke around her. A rumor had found her ears; a stretch of truth, a piece of information, what have her. A riddle, even. She was more than capable of discovering it's legality for herself, instead of waiting for the slumbering gods to act upon the wishes she had sent upwards in would-be prayers. Now, she crosses the threshold to the hidden caves, with hesitation nothing more than a skip in her dying heartbeat.
What you seek lies at the end of all things.
The truth lies in the caves that hide in the mountain like a tomb; a catacomb that could very well become her grave.
But still, she does not falter as she enters the black hole, where even the light of her crystal dares not touch the shadows that swallow her whole.
@isorath @kaisar @velorca
wanna do a thing? xD hehe
Thread inspired by this song by Florence + the Machine.
Send away for a priceless gift
One not subtle, one not on the list
Send away for a perfect world
One not simply, so absurd
In these times of doing what you're told
Keep these feelings, no one knows
What ever happened to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
Lightly buzzed is a better state of being than before, where I wasn't really hungover so much as actively drunk as fuck. Still, what can be said for the sorry soul that stands aimlessly out at the sea? Spring rains begin to dance upon my back and the stirring sea. The sun hides behind the clouds rolling in, and I let my head hang low toward the increasingly angry tide as it rushes to coat my striped hooves. The sand gives way around me bit by bit as it is dragged out to sea. The rain comes harder, the prelude of innocent showers quickly being replaced by the main act of fierce storm.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
My eyes are half-lidded as I stare, only half-seeing the swirl of water, the foam bubbling up the beach. Slowly it rises up my hooves. The salty reeking of the sea that would normally burn the shit out of my nostrils is tempered by the bucketloads of freshwater spilling from the heavens. Any sane fool would seek shelter. After all it won't be long before thunder and lightning turn a temperamental rainstorm into a furious thunderstorm wreaking havoc on the landscape. But I'm not a sane fool. I'm an inebriated, miserable sod.
Send a message to the unborn child
Keep your eyes open for a while
In a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else
There's a piece of a puzzle known as life
Wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight
The disapproving stare that I've been trying to ignore has finally pierced my hide far enough to reach my heart, and I glance over my shoulder to see its owner. The hellhound whose soul is tied forever with my own glowers at me, protected by an overhang from surrounding cliffs. Of course Damaris is smart enough to protect herself from the storm, and not so self-deprecating or self-loathing as to think she has any reason to suffer from it. In some ways I deserve her condemnation, but in others a small part of my brain would like to think that I still hold the high ground. (Though in reality I'm the one getting wet....)
What ever happened to the young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
I've never taken you for one to be this dramatic, Rostislav. In our years together I've never seen you so morose just because you haven't heard from a woman you fancy. Not even a mate! I wince and turn my gaze back toward the raging sea. Now my feathers are getting soaked as the tide rises with the waves churned by storm. A binge-drinking tour?! What in all the Gods' names were you thinking? My heart contracts painfully over and over again at her words. All of her words. Foolish to leave just because I've missed Weir, begun doubting our moments together, wondering if I'll ever see her again. And yet. 'The goal was to not think.'
Everyone's pointing their fingers
Always condemning me
And nobody knows what I believe
I believe!
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
The day was warm and the green of the grasses matched the green of their hooves as they galloped headlong through the fields. Up and over the hills and through the woods, every beat a rhythmic pattering drum, like periodic rainfall as their hooves struck the earth and their form was carried swiftly over freshly sprouting buds and newly turned earth.
Seree gave a loud whinny of greeting as they galloped past Grainne, sparing no time for conversation as their speed kicked up insects from the land around them, young butterflies fluttering away from the giant herbivore that came barreling through their midst, leaping and frolicking as they bucked and reared as they ran. Their lungs burned in a refreshing way that they had not felt in a long time, that soothed some of the stress of the long hours and hard work and biting words of irate patients, burning it away in the rush of adrenaline and the pounding of their heart that so echoed their hoofbeats.
They leapt over a chunk of rock protruding from the soil, their leap carrying them clean over to land with a thud on the soil on the other side as they kept onward. Sweat slicked their form and their golden antlers seemed to almost shine in the sunlight as they ran. The sweat on their body was whisked away by the wind that pulled at them from their run alone, cooling them and sapping the heat from their body almost as fast as they could generate it.
Another loud whinny ripped from their lips, this one only in pleasure and entertainment as they bucked their hind hooves in the air, speed and gaiety carrying them over the prairie's fields as sweet-smelling flowers blossomed around them, the scents filling the air as they ran over and through them, Seree's laughter and the sound of their hoofbeats and breath ringing throughout the meadow, along with the chirping and chittering of animals disturbed from their places by the carefree equine.
Ah, it was a lovely spring day.
@Siavax
OOC: Sorry for the delay in getting this set up, and sorry for slight shortness ^^;
When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing
And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising
Lyra was enjoying her time in Novus; the lands posed interesting rambles and the creatures she had met so far on her travels have been intriguing yet kind. She was reminded that souls could be generous and polite in their manners and it allowed her to feel a little lighter in her existence. By her very nature, Lyra sometimes struggled with day to day functions such as keeping herself hygienic or checking up on her fellow realm mates. It had been a couple of days since she had last conversed with another equine and so she was hoping that a commute to the veneror peak would allow her to delve into a more spiritual conversation with someone.
She wasn't exactly the religious type, yet the midnight blue and black vixen didn't write off the idea of a higher power. In simpler terms, she was agnostic and prone to conversion or ignorance all the same. Hoofbeats echoed upon the cold stone floor as Lyra moved up the slope. She liked to believe there was someone more powerful up there in the heavens but then..what would that mean? It would mean the gods didn't give a damn about anyone but themselves, they watch as children suffer and wars are waged. Why would anyone worship them?
Hazy golden light drifted through the murky panes of the windows lining the walls of the library facing inwards, towards the courtyard; Solis’s rays fell prey to Calligo’s clutch, and the sun fell from the sky, set to rise once more with the morning. She’d lined the desk with candles preemptively, but they remained sadly unlit while she still had the necessary light to see the mess of papers splayed out across the desk in front of her. Of the most immediate concern was a set of blueprints for an irrigation system. It was a good enough idea in theory, – the Oasis was the only reliable source of water in Solterra, and they needed water for both the gardens and the citizens in the capitol – but, even as she mulled over the papers, she hadn’t the faintest of how they would actually accomplish all of the labor that the trench-digging and pipework would require. She’d known this before she’d requested the blueprints, but she’d thought that looking them over would give her some notion of how this could be accomplished…but, as she stared the papers down like some enemy on the battlefield, Seraphina could only feel the faint, numb prick of frustration.
Those blueprints were only one of the many tasks that lay before the young queen; it would require considerable effort to stabilize the Day Court again, and she hadn’t any time left to spare. (In Solterra, hesitance could cost her head.) For now, she needed to recreate her own inner circle – two of Maxence’s champions were gone, and, perhaps more pressingly, her former role lay empty. She knew firsthand of the importance of a court’s Emissary, particularly considering her hopes for outreach and trade with Terrastella and Delumine. (She didn’t even consider Denocte in that approximation; it would be enough, she thought, to keep their hostilities at bay.) Considering Solterra’s reputation, whoever she selected needed to be reasonable, even pleasant; they remained rash, volatile warmongers in the eyes of most of Novus, and, while Seraphina couldn’t care less of the court’s reputation on a strictly personal level, she knew that it did her no favors if she hoped to garner foreign support. In a land of quick tempers, she needed someone stable at her side.
Someone, perhaps, a bit like an oak tree.
She’d sent a messenger to fetch Eik earlier in the day, but Solis only knew how long it would take for the messenger to find him – Solterra was vast and full of places to disappear. With any luck, however, he’d arrive before darkness fell…she had a proposition, and, should he agree to it, she imagined they would have much to discuss.
For now, she waited.
