Silver chains adorn fiery chestnut colored fur, swaying with the lady’s movements, and diamonds dangle and catch the light in her hair. Hair tightly braided, touched with just a hint of messy. Gold and silver chains twist around and into the dark and pale locks, held in place by a clasp of ribbon. Her head is held semi high, a trait she had never given up since entering this land. She may be a crow for her Night King but she was still a woman who enjoyed the finer things in life.
Cold eyes glance around the great hall, it is well decorated she supposes. She never expected to be here or to have a home, even after all these years it sounded too good to be true. As she walked through the halls, she passed servants and other workers who nodded to her in greeting. She returned each gesture with one of her own, but otherwise seemed distracted. There was much she wanted to do..but so little time to do it. She was also curious as to where her poison kissed twin could be, she hadn't seen her in a few days though she wasn't worried. Mila always went off for a few days to experiment new poisons.
@Isorath bleh this is gross but a post for you!
"this here is your speech colour!
here had been entire tomes scribed about the bond between equine and dragon, every ounce of feeling poured upon ink and parchment, pages after pages, book upon lovingly filled book. The thoughts of both tirelessly, lovingly and ardently recorded to the ages to come, to let the hopeful and the worthy know, just what might lay in store. Yet, for all the tomes and ancient scrolls which perservered through time's fickle touch, none could of ever prepared him for the true feeling of having another so effortlessly connect with the very essence of who you were.
How frustrated must those writers have been? to only have been able to describe a fraction of it.
Their bond is just blooming, a tentative first bud in the chapter of spring, but he can feel everything. So crystal clear, each drop ripples without obstruction through him in a harmonious hum. Today they had headed for the cliffs, Isorath a mere white star beneath Aether's great shadow, in order to simple be and enjoy one anothers company. Even if it meant Aether meticulously turning over every thought and emotion that the Kirin so much as entertained.
So that had been them, for a long stretch. Watching the horizon as the tide crashed against the cliffs and the birds sang in the air. Aether picked and Isorath would relent after a feeble attempt to push him out of his affairs. He knew better than to put up much of a fight, Dragon's were rather persistent creatures after all.
Seemingly satisfied, or more like having grown restless, the dragon had risen and dived from the jagged edge. Rising up upon the sea breeze, he chased the currents with effortless turns and dives. Isorath remained on his pillows and blankets he'd brought with him from the Citadel, lilac eyes enraptured at the sinuous dark form of the Dragon.
'No thoughts on what you've found?' the Kirin eventually inquired, his mental tone light in the wake of the answer which would rumble back. Even from his perch, he could feel the rumbled breath, and see the wisps of frost which spilled from his companion's maw. Arching back, the dragon coasted close to the edge, if only to lock his pale gaze with Isorath's for a moment.
'You think too much, you should not concern yourself with such trivialities, unless you want to get rid of them.' And then he was gone again, back out toward the sea followed by a soft snort of indignation from his equine counterpart.
fuck, she thought drowsily. her leg throbbed, the metallic stench of blood in her nose. her eyes were still closed, only light and shadow flickered behind her eyelids. she switched her ears; a murmuring stream nearby. she remembered, vaguely, being chased—no—hunted. the fog, the marsh, the creature on her heels, slashing and clawing and screeching. the chase had been exhilarating and the closest to death pavetta had ever been. it did not find me such easy prey after all, for here I am, alive, she thought triumphantly.
but the blood—she quickly sobered. her eyes flashed open, pupils dilating. the sun had not yet breached the horizon but the red dawn was not far off, for the horizon was flooded with a sliver of saturated light. it would not take long for something else to pick up her scent. she needed to find somewhere safe where she could eat, drink, and heal. pavetta attempted to rise but the pain in her hind leg overcame her and she sank back into the soft grass. she didn’t want to rise, not yet. it felt so nice, so soft and cool. the grass amid melting snow was wet with dew, beading her silver skin in pearls of water.
melting snow? snow in the middle of a scorching Rift summer?
she lurched instantly to her hooves, ignoring the thrill of pain in her leg. everywhere she looked, signs of a sleepy spring. green buds curling from tree branches, baby grass emerging along the whispering stream. steam curled lazily from the surface of the water and willows swayed along the bank. something was very wrong. pavetta shut her eyes, shaking her head. remember, she thought desperately, what happened that night? the hunt, the chase, the flight…a flash of green light and then blackness. a portal had opened and she had leapt fearlessly, without thinking, leaving both the pursuer and everything else she had ever known behind for good.
pavetta stumbled unsteadily towards the stream and drank deeply. she could feel the numbness setting in, the panic billowing in her lungs. a thick fog covered her mind. rest, she thought, I must rest, and then decide what to do. she limped into the willows. they created a small cove of woven branches and she should be hidden from sight, unless someone decided to follow the trail of blood in the melting snow, of course. there was not much to do about that and so she collapsed inside, wondering where the mysterious portal in the Rift forest had taken her.
It was a beautiful spring afternoon. The sun shone brightly overhead, shining warmly upon an earth still damp from the leftover moisture of melted snow. The smell of damp earth traveled along the cool breeze, but it was, perhaps, the nicest day of spring that Novus had yet to experience. For once, Somnus had taken advantage of the warm weather, the promise of a beautiful spring, and had taken Alba out for a little overdue exploration.
Since obtaining the barn owl nestling in the midst of a harsh blizzard, he had been unable to show her the world. She had been far too young to fly then, but as the days trickled by she grew far braver, attempting to leap off of every available ledge within the citadel in an attempt to learn how to fly. Doors, shelves, tables, and a chandelier… Somnus truly hadn’t even wanted to know how Alba had reached the light fixture in the first place. That day, with its sunshine and glorious weather, proved to be far too perfect to pass up, and so the normally reclusive tactician had left the citadel halls to get a little bit of fresh air, and teach the young barn owl how to possibly fly.
“It was a good try, Alba, but we cannot be masters in a single day. Nor from a single attempt.” In response to his soothing words, Alba ruffled her downy feathers and clacked her beak, already beginning to molt away the baby down as new, more mature feathers began to grow into place. Indignation pulled at that mysterious link that they shared, and Somnus couldn’t help but chuckle warmly in response. “Then try again, if you are so adamant to learn to fly. Come. Lift your wings. I’ll coach you.”
It would take a few attempts, of that he was certain. Flying was an unspoken art, but instinct could be a fantastic driving force behind learning such endeavors. Alba would inevitably get it, and then he was certain that little could stop her insatiable curiosity.
The pair stood in the clearing for an indiscernible amount of time, and Somnus patiently went through the steps of teaching his bonded how to fly. It took some time. The barn owl would leap into the air from the poll of the tactician’s head, wings flapping, only to land in a heap upon the earth. Frustrated she would climb her way back up to the top of the stallion’s head. Up, down. Up, down. The cycle repeated itself, but eventually, Alba was capable of gliding effortlessly a few feet in the air before landing upon the ground. Progress at last! She gave a loud, piercing shriek of victory, large round eyes turning back to the dunalino as though saying, ’see?! Did you see me?!’, and that alone was rewarding enough for Somnus.
“Well done, Alba! Immaculate, dear heart, truly.”
She had a long way to go until she was soaring effortlessly through the skies, but it was the little things in life after all. 'Small victories' and all that.
All welcome! Somnus is just teaching Alba how to fly.
The cold gave way to the blossoming petals of spring, but the black ice of his scaled hide never melted. The glow of his eyes never dimmed, not even on the brightest of days under the glare of the hottest Solterran sun.
But the wind still nipped at his hide, clouds giving way to his massive wings just like dew would evaporate after the morning chill. He cast shadows upon the ground underneath him, but his wingspan afforded enough movement speed that most would barely catch a glimpse of him as he passed above. Should they not look up, they may miss the beast entirely - for as massive as he was, he was silent, body kept airborne by the strong thermals that glided under his wings.
But still, he searched. He knew the echo in his mind, the call that tugged at the most sensible part of his conscious. It spoke breathless words unto him - of the world of dragons and kirins, of scales and fire, frost and ice - and of all the traditions that came with the timelessness of their land.
There was only one he sought, and it did not take long to find the magnificent creature. Polar opposite as he was to Aether himself... he, the dragon of towering black ice and crystal; Isorath, the kirin of ivory and gold. He shone bright among the crowd, and Aether briefly questioned if such a fact was always a good thing.
Down he descended, strong wings holding fast against the upward push of the air. From above the clouds, the wind bit at his hide feverishly... but as he coasted towards the land below, it welcomed him in a warm embrace. The chilled, calculating expression never left those glowing, wispy eyes, even as a strong neck turned to regard the tallest portion of the citadel that bordered the edge of the sea. He did not see Isorath, but his mind and all his senses told the massive wyvern that he was here.
And with that, he descended down to the citadel's roof, flaring those monstrous wings as he neared the peak and talons touched the imposing stone. Thankfully, most of the Court's citizens were out amongst the land, gathering precious supplies that were once hard to find in winter's harsh grasp... but for those that were still present in the Court, there was no denying Aether's presence.
The soft thud of his landing would emanate through the halls of the Citadel, shaking all the trinkets and garnish that lined the calls of the proud capitol. Aether need not roar to announce his presence... he was above such unnecessary displays. Instead, strong jaws split: cool, harmless frost spilled from his muzzle, down the side of the Citadel itself, pooling in the courtyard as his mind reached out to the kirin...
No matter where the Regent was, he would know. He may not know what, who, or how... but he would know something. It was a tangible pull, like an uncomfortable pair of cold hands grasping at the scaled patches of his hide, horns, and smooth wings. It would pull, begging him to move, to go, to rush to a place he had no idea of.
Oh, it was deafening, intoxicating his mind with white noise... with voices and thoughts that he may recognize were not his own. At first, the chorus in his mind might be overwhelming, but...
I arrive; have you not even the decency to greet me?
It was a calm voice that would dull the chaos in Isorath's mind with unnerving serenity. But nevertheless, it would make his body move.. to the courtyard, where the cool miasma would wash his legs, surround his body and creep up his neck. It was palpable in a way that simply made no sense for something so nebulous and ethereal, but it would guide his chin upwards to the heavens...
Upwards, to stare into the calm eyes of the creature that shrouded the entire courtyard in his shadow.
Aether will descend from the heavens and perch upon the tallest part of the Citadel in the Dusk court. He will not roar, but frost will spill from his powerful maw. His call to @Isorath will be wordless - spoken to the kirin through a connection only they share.
Thread requirements: 1 reply, 500 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
How to tag this account: Type @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once done, you may begin including Aether in Isorath's posts.
Tamran I want to be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren. The Faithful
He had never lived in a desert before, didn't know what to expect and so every day was a little more... interesting. He had found a cactus that shot out it's spines-dear Light it hurt why did that thing exist??-, a mouse that howled at him when he walked past, but best and highest of all in his mind was the discovery of the date-palms. He didn't know the dates were edible, not at first, though they smelled intriguing and made his mouth water. He was wise enough to not eat them despite that, not until he knew what they were-he had seen the trauma and illnesses brought on by those who ate first and asked questions after, if they lived- but when he saw another equine passing through the oasis take a date in her mouth and chew it... well, for a short span the sandy boy followed her, observing her, waiting to see if she would keel over.
When she didn't, and she left the oasis, he once more returned to the date palms to examine the drying fruit scattered about the sand. They seemed innocuous enough, and finally the young healer's curiosity got the better of him as he gingerly picked up a date in his lips, probing it with his tongue and rolling it around on his teeth before crunching down.
Sweetness, sweet and sugary nirvana exploded on his tongue, and it startled him a great deal, his hooves scuffling in the sand as he rolled the sweet fruit against his teeth. Sweetness, pure, nothing else. No foul taste, no shocking bitterness. Just.... sweet. It made him long for something, something that suddenly made his heart twist and clench in his chest with a choked sob. It was a taste of mother's milk, of warm eyes and soft scents washing over him, of a deep voice and booming laughter. The date choked him with it's sweetness, sweetness he adored and hurt for, and his head dropped to search out more, to chase those sweet memories despite their cruel twisting in his heart. He wept, he sobbed, he searched, gathering the sweet fruits until his cheeks strained, until the cloying sweetness flooded his mouth and throat and he drowned in the nostalgia of his childhood. Until he could recall with such painful, vivid detail the carved face of his father who's name he didn't even remember. Until he could remember his mother's heartbroken cry as he was pulled from her, silenced so abruptly.
They were gone, and for the first time in years, he wept not just for himself but for them, for the parents who had loved him, fought for him, died for him. For the boy of spun sugar who melted away at the first rain of hardship. For a homeland he could hardly remember burned away in the bloodied fires of war.
He wept, with the sweetest taste of childhood lost on his lips.
If he were being honest, Somnus knew that he would prove to be poor company for anyone who might stumble upon his little solitary ’birthday bash’. A derisive snort was the only sound he made at the thought. It was more like a pity party, but he was far too stubborn an oaf to admit it to himself, let alone someone else. He had awoken just before dawn in a surprisingly sour mood, alone and cold in his chambers and grumpy from a listless night. Caelum was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that was for the best.
It was his birthday. The seventh day of spring… Yet Somnus felt terribly low. It could always be worse, but his heart was surprisingly heavy on a day that should mean a joyous occasion surrounded by beloved family and friends. Alas, here he was, another year older and secreted away in the citadel library with his fourth serving of Delumine grown coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream. Bitter, just like he was feeling at the moment. Oriens bless the patient page who had darted to and fro throughout the citadel to refill his coffee pot when it grew empty. A dusty tome rested innocently upon the ground before his folded legs where he lounged upon warm duvets and cushions with young Alba napping in a comfortable roost between his shoulders, and the Regent would alternate between scanning the letters written in elegant script, flipping a page, sipping at his coffee, or gazing longingly out the window. It wasn’t an ideal way to spend a birthday, but it served him just fine. He wasn’t in the mood for company anyway.
Nightmares had awoken him, of fire and blood and heartache. Of his late-king’s reverent smile. It had been a very long time since he had dreamt of the Fall of Vallen. In a way, he had thought himself over it all, but clearly there were some things that the mind simply could not forget or bury. If only it had waited for another day to rear its ugly head, perhaps then it would not be so bad, but life had the uncanny ability to kick a man when he was down.
Verdant eyes turned away from his book and once more to the window, watching as the colors of dawn chased away the suffocating dark of night. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would do him some good. As soon as the thought popped into his head, however, Somnus immediately drowned it with a sip of hot coffee. No. He was quite content here, thank you very much, hidden away from the world to selfishly celebrate his day of birth alone. It’s what he wanted… But was it what he would have wanted?
Groaning, the tactician’s tired emerald gaze slid closed against the rising sunlight. “… When will you no longer haunt me?” He asked wretchedly to the empty library. No one would answer, the ghosts of the authors of every tome and novel silent. Alba, disturbed by her bond mate’s verbal inquiry, ruffled her feathers in agitation, one black eye slowly sliding open to regard the dunalino with a look of grumpy indignation. The nestling was growing tremendously from the day that he had found her within the blizzard, but they were still figuring one another out. If there was one thing that the barn owl loathed was being rudely awoken. She certainly loved her sleep. He sighed apologetically.
“Apologies, Alba. Go back to sleep.” The nestling gave a ’chirrup’ and did just that, tucking her downy head down between her wings to continue her morning nap. Somnus, for his part, turned his gaze back to that of his book, let out a dreary sigh, and once more continued to read. The day would pass and life would continue, but for now, he simply had to endure and survive.
Somnus is being an uncharacteristic grump on his birthday. Open to anyone who wants to put up with his grumpiness! :D
There was no telling for how long he paced the small clearing he called home, fretting profusely as he wore a path into the dirt and scuffed up the soil with his hooves. At any time now, with the rate he was going at, he'd burrow his way through Novus and come out the other side.
He just didn't know what to do.
He stayed in the swamp for a reason. He was a Commoner for a reason.
Was he smart enough to have potential as a Sage?
Yes.
Did he care enough about others and have the right personality to be a Caretaker?
Yes.
Was he, despite his currently, slightly underfed state, still a strong male with quite fearsome weapons in his jaws who could make quite a threatening enemy of the battlefield if he so chose, quite an intimidating Warrior?
Yes.
Why wasn't he any of those things? Why was he a Commoner?
Because he worried about things too much. He fretted and he fussed and he got into his own head and intrusive thoughts ran wild with panicked screams until he himself panicked and took off a gallop. He stayed in the swamplands because he was scared, he was afraid, of what, he could never be sure, but he was so afraid of everything that he simply stayed tucked away, and did none of the things that he was fully capable of if he put his mind to it because while he had the potential, he didn't have the right countenance.
What good was a Sage who panicked when spoken to?
What good was a Caretaker who couldn't handle stressful situations?
What good was a Warrior who ran away from the first sign of conflict?
There was a reason he was a Commoner. He shouldn't be involved in the affairs of gods and kings.
Yet here he was, his gaze constantly drawn to the small folded paper sitting on the ground, tucked under a root. It looked almost harmless, could be seen as nothing more than a trinket, if one didn't know the contents of the words within. Anyone who saw it would think maybe it was a love note, would pry it open to read with giggling eyes and a snickering voice, wondering who the recluse of the swamp had a crush on.
Only to find their face draining alabaster with horror at the contents within.
To him, it practically seemed a declaration of war.
Oh Vespera, sure he was probably exaggerating and overthinking things, but even his logic murmured that the note had had a very aggressive tone to it, and the words within seemed very grandiose for someone with a simple grudge. Seemed... more dangerous, more large-scale, than that.
He needed to bring it to the Sovereign, but what if the one who left it was still around? What if he was caught? Would he be killed for seeing something he shouldn't have? But it had been hung for all to see. Was it a trap?
What if it was just a prank? He'd be upsetting Florentine for nothing. He'd probably be kicked out for being such a nuisance, would blame him, and it wouldn't even be unfair.
With all these thoughts whirling round and round, Auru paced back and forth, not knowing what to do. His eyes kept drifting to the note. As time went on, he found the small, seemingly harmless paper the sole focus of his attentions more than he cared to think about.
It was like it was taunting him.
He stilled, staring at it for a moment with a haunted look in his eyes, the bags under them so prominent from his restless nights with the weight of the inked words hanging over him like an executioner. He looked at the small, innocently folded paper, and he felt like a viper was staring at him dead in the eye, looking right back.
Like a challenge.
'Approach me if you dare.'
('Unleash me upon Novus if you dare.')
But what if he didn't bring it, and someone was hurt anyway?
It was that which motivated him to suddenly grasp the note tightly with his telekinesis, not stalling in any movement so as not to give himself the time for self-doubt and introspection. He would never be able to do this if he let himself think.
The brown stallion sprung from his hideaway, note hefted high as he sloshed through the waters as quickly as he was able, using a year's worth of knowledge to swerve to the fastest paths to the keep, stumbling several times but keeping the note safely contained until he burst from the trees and onto solid ground, racing across the grass with a gallop that seemed far faster than he had ever run as he gave it his all to reach the keep, the capital of the Dusk Court, in record time.
He was heaving for air and felt like he was moments away from passing out as he burst into the keep, his hooves clattering over the stone as every muscle within him burned from the long run. Darkness threatened to creep in on the edges of his visions but he fought it valiantly, the wild mane about his neck and chest mussed and every aspect of him looking sweaty and windblown.
He didn't have the breath to call out for her, so he simply kept on, looking frantically around ever corner with the note still held weakly in trembling telekinesis.
And if one day she comes to you Drink deeply from her words so wise
Few heralded the shift of spring quite like the ever patient greens of the world. They alone were most attuned to nature's cycle of life and death, and when the winter berries dropped and decayed into fading snow, Grainne knew the time of scarceness and hardship was over, that soon the resources of her trade would be easy enough to come by. So when the snow thawed in the cold moor of Denocte, she ventured out from the Night Court and into Ruris, to the wild and free lands now bereft of snow and ice. Winter had only just begun to fade, yet already life was beginning to return with a vengeance, new shoots of beautiful green parting the dead and brittle blades of brown.
With care and grace she walked the length of the creek, listening to it's freed waters bustle and bubble merrily in the growing warmth of the midday sun, along with the trilling of birds returning from migration she felt privy to a melody few paused to revel and wonder in. In reverent silence she basked in the sunlight, warming her limbs and feeling the sun's soft kiss on her silvery coat. Truly spring was her season, her time when her strength and spirit was at it's peak, though it too held it's own dangers. With the fading winter, those predators that slumbered in the darkest corners of the world would soon return. Pestilence would be carried on warm and humid winds and biting insects. Reckless, young and arrogant fools would clash and batter each other in the heat of springtime insanity, driven on by instinct and impulse to wound and gouge. There would be no shortage of those needing tending.
It truly was the season of the witch.
Once she had warmed up enough, Grainne rose and began wandering down the creek with a purpose, searching out for the hardy plant she sought, easy to detect by it's sweet scent and distinct appearance. Soon enough the smell of rosemary filled her nostrils with each breath, a heady and almost intoxicating aroma when mixed with the crisp smell of water and the rich loamy earth. She knelt before a fair sized bushel of the rosemary, for a moment simply taking pleasure in the smell of it and the sounds of the peaceful creek, before gingerly nipping off sprigs of the plant. She never took too much, and clipped them with the practiced ease of a master at the base of the main trunk. She took perhaps two, three sprigs before rising and tucking them into the satchel about her neck, moving on in search of the next plant, the faintest snippets of a song falling from her dark lips as she walked.
+1 EXP may be redeemed for 'gather supplies for your Court with another character' upon completion
