If there was one thing Lyra had been feeling at that moment it was cold. Winter had taken over the lands, and while the lack of wind and the rather pitiful midday sun was certainly helping, she was feeling far too chilly for her own comfort. The prairie also seemed to reflect the change in weather as the ground was a bit icy and the tiny rocks that littered the entire floor seemed to be a bit colder than they really should have been on these hills.
Her initial movements within the sideralis prairie were a bit rushed, and lacked any notion of calmness. She was trying to generate, and keep, a little heat from the natural process of it being generated from her own muscles, rather than trying to huddle somewhere and simply not move, which not only seemed unproductive and hence stupid, but it also wasn't freezing, and she considered that doing just that would be overreacting.
Though, maybe she was overreacting herself. Whenever winter had just rolled around she always had a bit of a habit of making it a bigger deal than it was, and as she walked, rather quickly, through the land she couldn't help but think of that herself. Did she really need to make such a big deal out of it, after all the weather was only going to get worse from that moment on. In a matter of seconds dozen more thoughts raced through her mind, causing her own pace to slow until it was a slow rock, and anyone who found her would simply see her wondering in thought. She had a lot to think about besides just cold weather in fact. After her talk with Reichenbach..she came to realize she would need help as Champion of Community, even her King suggested she find a council of four others to help her reach everyone that needed their voice to be heard. But who could do it? She hadn't a clue yet.
As silly as it seemed, Susurro Fields was special to her—for it had been where Terrastella had welcomed Cyrene with a soft embrace. Her, a broken girl with a broken heart who pretended to be so selfless, who dazzled with a starlight smile and vanished with a fleeting caress. Cyrene was not selfless. Maybe, she was doing it all out of spite, out of pity—if I save these poor creatures, it would mend my own soul. A misplaced sense of valor, perhaps. She wasn’t sure, one never could be with concerns of the heart; but in the depths of her own, a darkness lingered. That she was certain of.
Sable curls weighed heavily upon the girl’s flower-strewn crown. Gently, she touched the golden vial and single grey feather that remained always around her neck. After parting ways with the dove-coated boy, Saoirse, who had reminded her so much of Cygnus with his demure manners and quicksilver feathers, the gravity of the Earth all at once dragged her down into its murky depths. It had always made an exception for her, for the nymph who glided across the dew-soaked grass with an effortless grace bestowed upon nimble hooves. Yet now…
She traipsed soundlessly through the thin blanket of snow coating the gentle swells of the lantern-lit meadow. Inhaling deeply, the scent of sweet liquor and roasted chestnuts filled every pore of her body—and along with it, just as strong, the stench of woodsmoke. Even now, when Cyrene had smelled it all throughout the night, she still breathed it out as quickly as she drew it in. You must stop dwelling upon what has already happened, she sighed. Shaking her head sharply, the girl walked passed the sparkling liquors (she was not fond of alcohol’s bitter tang) and towards the stall where honeyed chestnuts roasted merrily on a soft flame. "I’ll take four, please,” and she smiled merrily at the vendor who swiftly handed her a steaming pouch of sweet, golden-brown chestnuts.
Avoiding the crowds gathered around the massive bonfires, Cyrene picked her way delicately towards a more open stretch of land, where only a few others lingered. Amber eyes floated towards a fallen tree a few paces ahead, only lightly dusted with snow. Its trunk makes for a perfect seat to sit and enjoy the upcoming aurora, she mused, and she made a beeline for it in case anyone else reached the same conclusion. The tail end of the trunk was hidden in shadow, and Cyrene paid no mind to it as she perched lightly upon the other end, gilded wings stretched open behind her.
A wisp of steam drifted from her aromatic treat, and she deftly popped one into her mouth, a small wince slipping past her lips as it burned her tongue. "How delicious!” she murmured, marveling at the saccharine snack as rosy lips upturned into a sylphlike grin. "Yet food tastes sweeter in the company of another.”
So absorbed was she in her cuisine, that Cyrene failed to notice the soft glint of a golden eye, the smooth satin of a metallic body as he lay, silent, at the other end of the log. It seemed she had company after all.
Weeks had passed since Avdotya last walked the bustling courtyard of Solterra's capitol. Between her brief appearance at Dusk's ongoing winter festival and near-constant prowling of the desert, she had little interest in the goings-on of the general populace; however, the Regent assumed it would be wise to show her face around them to deter any wandering minds, if only for a fleeting moment. That was not to say that she had any intention of enjoying it, though. In fact, the woman's expression was quite sour as she stepped out from the fortress and into the sunlight, her piercing gaze tracing the movements of those going about their day.
She stood there for a few seconds longer, then slipped down the sandstone steps like a lioness on the prowl. Behind her, Feliks followed at a brisk trot- far less elegant than his equine companion, but he had never been known to put much effort into the grace of his motion. The Borzoi was a simple being, he cared not for image as much as his bonded (although Avdotya would never admit to her consciousness of her reputation).
Different as they were, they had become a strong pair and it only further pushed the woman to exude confidence. It was that confidence that had a tendency to intimidate others, and while Solterra was renowned for its bold inhabitants, Avdotya often found others averting their eyes and avoiding her when possible... a fact that brought pleasure to her blackened heart. She was no lover of social interaction and the niceties that often came with it, and so she preferred the frequent evasion.
Perhaps now she could enjoy watching the fighters train in the dirt ring without disturbance.
Snow cloaks the Denoctian landscape, drenching the earth, strangulating nature. Oh, but nature is not so easily conquered by a few heaps of snow; nature has learned, nature has evolved. Even in the depths of winter do the birds still sing, the squirrels still play, the deer still wander—but Nerissa wouldn't know.
The smell of death is not so easily conquered by sweetness. Wherever the girl goes, so does the lingering scent of decay. Nature slinks back from the smell of the dead; disgustedly do the birds fall silent, the squirrels retreat, and the deer recoil from the trail of the necromancer. Maybe she smells like this because she spent too much time with her mother's rotting cadaver, or perhaps the odor is caused by the bracelet pried from a corpse that now rests on her ankle. Some say she collects dead things, others say she is the dead thing; she is a zombie studying necromancy because her maker perished, and she wants to raise an undead army in his stead.
Who knows? Only Nerissa, who no one cares to ask.
And so, in the wake and in the path of the lilac girl, all life retreats, all rumors bloom. The girl is used to it. She does not notice her smell, or the whispers; she is fixated wholly on her supernatural goal. At the gates of the Night Court, and the bustling, lively markets of the gypsies, Nerissa finds an inkling of a long forgotten feeling begin to swell in her speckled breast. She spent a year and a half searching, seeking, desperately begging for answers from strangers who had none. But maybe, hopefully, there is someone here who has a shred of an answer; just a glimpse, a piece, a tiny corner of an explanation is all the girl needs.
Nerissa smiles for a moment. Desires, prospects, and dreams gathered so nicely all in one place, she contemplates the impossibilities Denocte holds.
'This will do,' she tells herself quietly, 'this will do.'
forgive me, I am so incredibly rusty ;-; anyway, an even die roll, so nessa's staying cheery!
@Reichenbach <3
Days have passed searching for this land of Terrastella. Whispers and rumors of the festivities it boasts, guides the youth closer to its lights. Farther from the warmth of hot sands, and the arid, listless tapestries of the struggling trees that waver with each hot breath. He doubts his place there. The boy feels chased away, even though he hardly had a stake in its kingdom. It was a ghostly feeling, having become transparent and invisible in the land of ‘warriors’. It was unnerving to think that he embraced the sharp pinpricks of winter, the painful movement of the frigid airs rolling off his shoulders. Projecting faint, blurred remembrances of his sire – or the striking longing for his mother. Poignant, and severe in its purchase for his heart.
Would it change one day, he wondered? Would he finally be carved out, without emotion to bear himself forwards?
It seemed the most logical, the easiest path to wander out from. But without a teacher, or a mentor, his dreams for battle and war dwindled with the soft, clumsy snowflakes in the air. In the moment, as Saoirse navigated the heavy atmosphere with his wings, he grappled with the quiet, the softened presence of the drifting snow with amusement. The winds were not so forceful – at that moment. The precipitation, frozen, trickled down softly despite its cool presence on his withers or head.
Alone, he offered a rare and lonesome smile. Swinging from side to side in the spaces that separated him from the rest of life, the earth below– spilled with so many memories, forgotten in white.
Until of course, the coast appeared. Decorated by lights, by the low murmur of voices, of music and laughter. His ears flickered, deep green eyes darted below – startled by its presence. And with that a rogue wind, just the same, caught the boy off guard and struck him side ways. He lost some elevation while recovering, his muscles cold and sore from the travelling. He could see the ground, a plateau level enough to land.
Without finess, or control, he struggled with the swirling currents rising from the ocean side. And fell, stumbling on rocks he couldn’t see below the snow, and the ice that covered them. He shut his eyes when gravity continued its course, pulling his wings tightly against his body. And with a grunt the momentum stopped only a short while against the ground.
The boy huffed, resting on his right side and peaking out into the muddled sky. Billowing with clouds, and cold – and the scent of sweets and spices from the distance.
“This must be it,” he talked allowed. Missing the sound of his voice. “I hope so. But… maybe a… small rest first.”
The snow seemed to lessen here, the winds pushing those bountiful clouds further inland. He cast his eyes skywards, taking in the breaks of open sky. The fading light, the dipping sun as it shrouded everything it touched with a light, gold glimmer.
It was unexplainable, what would tug at @Somnus' gut and heart. Something was telling him to go, to trek out into the lands eclipsed in snow. But to where? And who in their right mind would just wander out into the snow in a blizzard so fierce?...
No time to answer those questions, as the call was too loud, too deafening to ignore. But, should he trek out into the snow - the sky nearly discernible from night or day - he may just find the answer to something else.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It seemed as if the winter of Year 501 was exceptionally harsh and unforgiving. The winds whipped angrily throughout the land, howling around corners and chilling residents of every Court to the bone. Not even the harshest of environments, Solterra, was spared - instead, the deserts became a death-wish at night.
High up in the trees, where the air chilled to below freezing temperatures without even needing to move and frozen dew hung heavy on the leaves, was a small nest. Burrowed into the core of a tree that was long since dead, the dried twigs lay crumpled, frozen together by the moisture that had nearly turned to ice. It was not uncommon to find abandoned nests during the winter months, when all the animal families had headed for warmer areas of the continent... or perhaps, on a more grim note, they were abandoned because those who once inhabited them had succumbed to winter's harsh grasp.
But this one was different. Inside the heap of gray twigs lay a fuzzy, baby Barn Owl chick, its feathers shivering in the cold, unforgiving embrace of the season. Her down - fluffy and wild, a mimic of some frazzled elderly woman's hair - did marginally better at protecting her against the elements.
And as her tiny dark eyes peered out of her nest, she stared into snowy emptiness. It had been days since her mother and siblings had disappeared, leaving her stranded in the nest all by her lonesome, cries left unanswered. Did they abandon her, or did something steal them from her? Truth be told, she couldn't remember that, let alone the last time she had even seen aother living being.
Her cries grew weaker and weaker as the time passed, and more hope dwindled from her heart. Still she peered out into the white abyss.. until finally, she saw something in the distance. It was bright, like the sun, even though the snow tried to smother it.. hurriedly she toddled over to the edge of the nest, and peered down at the approaching creature. It was something she had not seen before... wait, did it have wings?
Was it one of her parents? Those wings, they looked so familiar! Bright eyes flitted from the approaching figure, over to her own wings. They looked so similar! This must be someone who she knew... or at very least, someone who could help her!
In her hasty thoughts, she did not see how far forward she had leaned until it was too late - and she tumbled. Down, down the tall tree, her wings attempting to spread but her muscles not well-developed enough to allow her to take flight. Instead, her flaring her downy-puffed wings allowed her to slow down just enough---
THUMP! Right on the golden figure's butt!
It took a moment to process, as she sat there shivering, before she turned her gaze to the creature. It was no owl, that's for sure... even though he had the wings of one? How confusing! But if he had the wings of one, he must be... one? Something like that! Whatever he was, he was good enough for her.
Flaring her wings up as she scrambled to get her balance, the shrill whistle that left her little beak was .. well, for her size, quite deafening. But either way, unless a startled Somnus bucked her off, she'd slowly waddle up his back and nestle - quite leech-like - in between the shoulders of his wings.
He was home now, whether he liked it or not.
When @Somnus treks through the blizzard howling through Viride Forest, searching for an answer to a question that is unknown to him, he will pass by a long dead birch tree with a hollowed out niche about fifteen feet up. As he passes under it (maybe he notices the white fluffy thing? maybe he's aimlessly wandering? who knows!), little Alba, alone in her nest, will peer down at him. In her curiosity, she will not see how close she is to the edge, and will tumble from the tree to land on Somnus' rump!
Unless Somnus spooks and bucks her off, she will shake off the accumulating snow, puff her wings up and raise them high (as if such a fluffy, fuzzy bean could look menacing, even if she tried). And then promptly waddle along the Regent's back to nestle between his shoulderblades and the base of his wings.
Looks like Somnus is stuck with her, huh?
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From the sea she ventured forth, spilling vapor from her maw. Noctiilucent had decided it was time to move on from aimless wandering to something more concrete. It had not been long that she existed in a strange new world, that seemed to be absent of deities. Time had yet to speak to her what was in store. It would not relinquish its secrets without a fight, and often the flow of time dictated the events. Noctii had to wonder if the unyielding demeanor of time had anything to do with the future, as though it were perhaps planned out. Perhaps this had been her destiny from the moment she grew into existence. It was these questions without answers like these that perturbed her and cast her thoughts into the void of heaven above. The sky was endless, as endless as the existential questions she frequently found herself pondering. These ruminations ceased when she spotted a peculiar formation in the distance. It stood rigid against the vividly painted sky and stood in contrast to the snow that had tucked the earth beneath it. Its hollow chasms leered at her from atop its perch. Noctii was tempted to avoid this formation but was simultaneously drawn to.
Her frame moved with a minimal effort across the snow and ice covered terrain. Her fluid movements spoke of how versed she was in moving across difficult topography. The minx that was splashed with alabaster seas made a decisive approach. The empty chasms of the structure beckoned for her to drift close enough to be swallowed alive. Noctii peered straight ahead as she moved until her daggers struck the worn stone. Her gaze dripped downward to feast upon the ice that crawled across the masonry. Just as the seaside had been still, so was this place. At least from the outside looking in. Noctii felt a strange pulling for her to keep moving, though not a soul sprung from the earth nearby. It was like peering into the starscape overhead, barren, cold, and lonely. It was simultaneously beautiful, splashed with dustings of galaxies and nebulas. The artist responsible for the canvas in this new land was just as expert as the one of Reth. The alabaster spires that protruded from her face aided in pulling her head back upright. They were heavier than her skull alone, and she often used them to gain momentum when moving her visage.
Her long tendrils draped themselves over the land beneath her feet, sweeping debris beside her as she moved. "Hello?" She called into the vast emptiness around her, denying the beckon of the hollow chasms to her left.
The sound of waves colliding with the rocks resonated along the southern coast. It was like a reflection of time, and the turbulent way that it progressed forward. Every crash echoed in the hollows of her ears as she watched the waves consume each rock carved into the landscape. The damp atmosphere begged a shiver from her defined frame, absent was the humid air of the sea. The stench of salt was steal abundant, one of the few things winter could not steal from the sea. Winter could steal the comfort of the sea's warm breath, but not her nature, not her presence, and not her scent. Noctiilucent found herself contemplating these traits, and though they were personifications she could not be sure that was all they were. Given that the deities of her homeland had proven their existence to her, she grew wary of the world itself. It was not honest, and once prior she had been a liar as well. The volatile tempest stirred another barrage upon the jagged rocks once more, and with her attack a sigh escaped the pink dusted lips of the mare on the shore.
The heavens were drenched in a brilliant starscape, dusted by galaxies and glittering stars. The moon made its cold presence known, and aside from the symphony spun by the tempest, the night was still. Not another sound could be heard, but the song of the tempest was hard to contest. It put her soul at ease as she stood in admiration beside the sea. Her breath disappearing into the vastness of the heavens in puffs of vapor. The crystal upon her pendant glinted in the moonlight, flickering like the stars overhead. Ice crawled up the length of her horns, and made the edges of her tresses brittle. The golden and alabaster minx began to move, hoping that someone would come and pull her from this melancholy she felt. It was so deep that she didn't believe even the sea herself could hold it in the deepest abyss. It had been so long since she'd been in the company of someone, and she desired it. The warmth of comfort, and the compassion of her kin. Noctii was bitterly homesick, but she had decided upon creating a new life here. She could not bare the thought of being placed under the whim of the gods, and walking upon seashells to appease them.
"If only the tempest herself could adopt me to fend off this chill of winter, and bitter misery that has seeped into my bones..." She murmured aloud to herself, hoping her words would lift the weight from her bodice. It was to no avail, but she did not fret if anyone would hear it, it was not often others ventured to the sea in the dead of night in winter.
"Speech"
Notes: First post with Noctii!
Tags: Open | @Vale
Words: 471
Every single person enters this world in the same way. Bloody and afraid. Yet completely innocent and unknowing of the dangers in the world, the innocence of it all. If one had a chance to be reborn into the world, completely unknowing would one not take it? It is a second chance to be someone you are not, to shed the skin of someone you once were and create a new image. To erase the wrongs you have committed no matter how horrible the act. However, no such person is blessed with the luck of being reborn...they must work and try to start over in their own way. But some are blessed with starting over in a much easier form.
The night was dead silent.
The type of silence before a violent storm where everything held its breath in fear that with one tiny movement everything would come crashing down. A gentle wind toyed with the branches of thousands of trees, the hundreds of rolled parchments shaking, creating the only sound that seemed to shush everything else, shh shh. The air was chilled and in the darkness, against the sickly glow of the pale moon clouds were rolling in. They churned and fought each other as they slowly devoured more and more of the night sky, what they carried was unknown, whether it be snow or rain it was going to be violent.
On this night Vale was reborn.
Like a storm herself Vale came crashing out of shrubs and weeds like a madman, shattering the silence entirely. The clearing Vale had entered was encircled by trees their many notes rattling eerily and nearby a river trickled quietly. Elegant legs spread far apart for stability Vale dropped her head low, her wings unfolded and resting on the ground, panting and gasping for air as her body violently shook. Sweat and blood (hers and many others) soaked her body and mixed together as it dripped from her wings and face. The moon illuminating her ghostly form.
Suddenly everything went silent again Vale's violent panting filling in the void. It was then the gravity of things crashed down on the mare...she had killed so many horses, so many of them were fucking children. There was no way she could be innocent once more, should she turn herself in for her crimes? There was no way the gods would accept her. Adrenaline gone the small mare collapsed to the ground in the mixture of sweat and blood. Strands of her mane stuck to her face and body.
It was then the pain came. Slamming into her full force it bloomed into her wings and stayed there blinding Vale in white-hot pain. There was something definitely wrong. Blood seeped from between her feathers and ran down painting them in red. Fear once more licked her heart and everything went blurry for a split second, Vale (with extreme difficulty) pulled herself to her hooves. Although extremely painful Vale began frantically beating her wings creating a whomp sound as they violently pushed air yet she did not take flight. No, no no no no-"NO! YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME! YOUVE DONE ENOUGH!" she screeched at the top of her lungs. Yet he had, Prophet had taken her ability to fly.
The winds began to pick up and violently shook the trees, taking the watery sounds of Vale's sobbing and traveling with them. Fat droplets fell from Vale's cheeks as she cried, every will to survive lost.
The mare allowed her wings to once more fall limply to the ground as she headed towards the river, twin trails of blood followed from her wings. Sobs trailed after too. Vale had the sudden urge to clean herself, she so desperately wanted to be in control of something again. Blood clumped in her trailing mane and tail and was staining her coat a rust-like color, she must have looked crazy.
Entering the chilling river Vale was careful of the floating flames as she waded in until she was up to her stomach in water. Drying and fresh blood turned the crystal water red as it trailed away with the current making the once beautiful place seem like a murder site. Vale's equally long mane and tail both were played with by the current and her giant swan-like wings rested just above the water. The river was so cold that Vale began quivering yet she did not move, it made her feel new and clean. Numb.
So, as the floating torches moved around her making her seem to glow snow began to fall, in small little flecks. Vale closed her eyes and lifted her head allowing the snowflakes to rest on her lashes and nose, her sobbing the only thing filling the air.
She was reborn, covered in blood and absolutely terrified.
OOC:::Im so unbelievably excited! Sorry it's such a long post I kind of went overboard but I hope you like it even though it’s kind of all over the place and crappy <3 TAGS::: @Rhiannon
The world was moving swiftly these days, swooping past him in a blur of shadows, honey gold hair and lilac eyes. While the threat from Solterra had dulled after Maxence's fortunately timed passing, The Night King still watched the desert kingdom with distrust — if they had been willing to start a war with Denocte at the bidding of an unblooded King, there was ample evidence to suggest they would do so again. He'd always respected the battle-hardiness of the Solterrans, had always nodded a head in their direction to acknowledge the strength and fierceness with which they held onto life... but bloodlust and warmongering against his people was something he would not tolerate.
It was just a matter of time now.
A matter of time before someone else took their move upon the chessboard. Would it be Dusk? With their newly crowned Queen? His thoughts stumbled over the sight of Florentine crowned, her honey-gold skin slick and smooth under the gaze of so many, her hair tumbling and wild and free... he'd scanned the crowd, standing beside her, silver eyes sharp as razors as he stared down any man that stared too closely, too intimately.
Shadows coiled around him lazily, appearing seemingly from his skin, stretching toward the altar before him. A sense of connection and release rippled through him as he gave his offering of wild-honey and night jasmine to Calligo, placing it before her altar as reverently as he did every month. Their Calligo, misunderstood and lonely, until now — now she had her Court, now she had him.
The Night Queen, leading her Night King down a path of stars. Reichenbach sighed through his nostrils, watching the altar through hopeful eyes, always waiting to see his Queen of Stars. She did not appear to him as a physical goddess, nor a creature made of stars and smoke — but he felt her there, watching with curious eyes from behind whatever veil the Gods deigned to sleep behind. She gripped his heart with her shadow wreathed fingers, gentle but firm, the knowledge that he was hers absolute and unchangeable.
He had not been born here, did not have generations connecting him to this earth (or so he thought), and yet she had kissed him as he left the womb. Whether it had been a blessing or a curse he did not know, to be kissed by Calligo and burdened with her shadows, her tempest. Yet it had led him here, skinny shouldered and ragged, his grin wicked and fierce, fingers sticky. It had led him to Aislinn, his stormsinger, and Araxes, his wisdom-keeper, to Seree and Rostislav and Camdis... to Florentine, to Isorath. All faces he cherished, despite the weakness it might pose to the outside realms.
A gentle breath of air left his throat, the shadows around his cheekbones fluttering curiously, waiting for Calligo to appear, or for something to happen. Nothing did. Yet his shadows remained, expanding and flowing as his argent gaze watched the altar, the taste of honey still staining his black lips from his offering. His voice resonated with music as he spoke;
"We'll meet one day... Queen of shadows."
ooc; worship thread, but open if anyone feels inspired!
