There had been a time when Alaric felt nothing. He roamed this world with a cold numbness where his life meant nothing to anyone and he lived without being known. The great stories of his life burned to ash with the kingdom he desired more than life itself. Sometimes he thinks he can hear their screams bouncing and clawing around in his brain, Alaric finds them melodic, a memory of a better time. When he was feared. Upon returning to Novus no horse knew him. He was a ghost. Anyone that would remember him was long gone, wiped out by the sun courts former leader. The Davke were no more, he was born in Novus to those powerful feared horses and like the sand, they were blown away.
It had been unclear to Alaric when he had left the sands for the soft greens of the grass, lost in thought he had just traveled. The only sounds coming from the horses' teeth chiming around his neck. When the sound of running water and the golden glow of flames played across his body Alaric snapped from his trance. "Hmmm" his gravel-like voice bounced from tree to tree in the loneliness of it all, stretching both ink black wings to the sky they seemed to make the night darker, light from the flames licking at them. "It seems I've come just in time for one of Novus' festivals."
There were many trees in which paper hung limp like useless appendages, waiting for someone to open them and read them. Begging for a stranger or someone destined to come open them and reveal their secrets inside. Stepping under one of the many decorated trees the stallion allowed the hanging notes to trail across his back gently like lover's kisses. Alaric lifted his head and found paper resting in the nook of one of the limbs of the tree, using his lesser telekinesis the man brought it to him, along with something to write with.
Alaric would write a promise, something he would keep until it was accomplished or he was killed because Alaric would not stop until it was done. Whoever was to blame for killing his family was already dead but the people of the court allowed it to happen. They were at fault too. Alaric chuckled. Something deep and dark and full of hatred as he wrote; 'the day court will crumble beneath my hooves'.
Rolling it up he strung it up in one of the lower hanging branches with a silk ribbon and a single horse tooth to hang with it. And with that, the stallion stepped away and with a violent rush of air he took to the sky to watch from above, waiting and watching for anyone- if anyone- to stumble upon his note.
The biting chill followed her ascent, wind whipping and buffeting her frame during her venture. Every step was taken carefully, every hard hoof seeking out steady purchase with the natural-born skills of one who was born in the frozen tundra and cresting mountaintops, who knew how to waltz upon the edges of a crevasse with poise and confidence and zero fear of falling. The entire journey, from the Gods-forsaken desert of Solterra to the blustery mountaintop of Veneror reminded her of the Aurora Basin, and for a few hours, she could pretend that she was home.
Solterra had not been kind since her arrival. She struggled to adapt, not mean for sun and sand. It was too hot for one born of mountain ice and northern lights. The people there were boring and plain, and it was slow. So. Fucking. Slow. Were it not for the simple sake that it was now familiar, Rhiannon would take her happy ass elsewhere. Somewhere less drab. Maybe try and find a way home…
Except… There was no home. Not anymore. It was gone from her grasp forever. The beloved mountains, the pristine lake, the caves she had grown up in, the many gatherings of her Plague-brothers and sisters… They were all gone, lost to her, stolen away by the son of a bitch who had, in a sick and twisted humor, decided to keep her alive and not just let her die with the land she had loved. Instead, she was stuck in a desert with little to do but knit using aloe plant and palm tree fibers because the damn place was so fucking slow that no one wanted to even get hurt and give her something to do. Disgusting. Boring. Pointless and a waste of her efforts.
(Not that she had efforts of a healer in the first place. She was a war mount, bred and created for bloodshed and domination, for warfare and manipulation. Rhiannon had zero fucking skills in healing anyone, but she took up the position as Caretaker because why the fuck not?)
The winter cold seeped into her body and settled into her bones like an unforgotten lover. It was intimate, winter’s embrace. It was like coming home, and Rhiannon had half of the mind to simply remain upon this mountain rather than go back to the desert. No one would miss her. There was nothing for her there. There really wasn’t anything for her anywhere in this Novus. Not for the first time she thought about just letting death take her and be done with it, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she denied it vehemently. The brindled devil was not so desperate as to resort to suicide, but if a boulder fell from the sky and tried to crush her where she stood? Well, she wouldn’t necessarily bother to move.
The mar of darkness continued her ascent, hooves coated in ice, hair frosted with snow. The thick curls of her mane and tail hung about her like heavy weights, bogged down with snow and moisture. Whiskers were frozen, but her ears were alert, eyes narrowed and keen, and her posture rigid and proud. Here, she was in her element. Here, others would bow before her. Not even the Gods, if Novus even fucking had any, could bring her to her knees.
Ironically, it was then that she found the entrance. The snow ceased the second her hooves stepped upon stone instead of thick snow, echoing upon a chamber that had been carved out of the side of the mountain. Molten-gold and frozen-silver peered in through the sparse light, narrowed and haughty. The fuck was this place? Giving her body a mighty shake, voluptuous muscle and curves rippling with the action, she rid the excess snow from her coat and ventured confidently inside. Her steps are measured and even, eyes roaming the grand hall and taking in all of the sights. It was a beautiful display of craftsmanship, one that she could truly appreciate given her craftsman heritage. The mortar work was exceptional, and despite the fierce chill outside, it was oddly warm and comfortable.
Arriving to the heart of the chamber, Rhiannon came to a halt, eyes narrowing. Before her were small candles lit at altars, each one representing what…? But almost immediately, she realized just where she was. It brought forth memories of a vibrant, hot blue-lava filled crater, where the greedy and the desperate sought out power. It reminded her of the Veins of the Gods, the slab altars, ash and heat so potent and thick in the air that one felt as though they were choking. This must be the Novus equivalent of the Veins, a sacred place where others brought offerings and prayers. Looking around, various items were strewn upon the ground before each statue; rocks, feathers, flowers, various plants, some personal items… Things that obviously meant something to someone, but Rhiannon didn’t see it. Didn’t get it.
The Gods meant nothing to her.
“… Ya’ll stand there,” she muttered, the odd, masculine baritone of her words cutting through the otherwise peaceful silence of this mountainside haven, “Silent. Absent. Bearing over your precious Novus, watching the world work itself out. I’m not yours to command. I’m not from your land.” Their rules, their commandments, meant little in the eyes of one such broken and bitter as herself. Despite knowing that no one was listening, the brindled beast went on, her words maintaining that low bass.
“I had Gods, once. They died. Gods can die. They stood up for our home, tried to protect it, and they were murdered. There is nothing holy or reverent about you. You aren’t immortal beings.” She had seen it, with her own eyes. The Gods of Helovia had been killed. The Gods of the Rift had been killed. How long until the Gods of Novus joined them? “I didn’t ask to survive. I wanted to die. I want to die. There’s nothing for me here. This land is nothing to me. If you are listening, if you are out there, then send me some kind of proof that I should stay. Otherwise, I…” Rhiannon trailed off with an audible clack of jaws shutting. Otherwise, well. She just wouldn’t have to worry anymore.
Silence reigned supreme once more through the hollow antechamber. For a long while she stood, a black disease amongst something so holy and revered, but she didn’t care. Rhiannon had long since lost the ability to care. Finally, she gave a snort. Loud and disruptive, cutting through the silence. Of course, she was met with no response. Letting out a breath, the she-devil twisted her head and pulled a few feathers from the many that were tied into her mane. They were her trophies, her prizes, stolen from the many Pegasi that she had fought, sparred, or killed. Stepping closer but not bothering to disperse them between each respective slab, Rhiannon let the feathers drop from her lips and onto the cold ground.
“… Here. Don’t fucking think too much into it, though.”
She still didn’t give a shit.
Rhiannon wasn’t too sure how much longer she stood there, in a place that might be far too pure for her corrupt self. She hadn’t been smote yet, or set aflame. Maybe there weren’t any Gods. Regardless, the weaver’s daughter decided that she would remain here until she felt ready to leave it behind, and given the fact that this was the only place that reminded her of the cruel landscape of her birthland, she knew that she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
His mind was still foggy, the image of the snowman still replaying in his mind. Behind him, the strange little creature had started up a snowball fight--much to the dismay of more than a few participants back in the clearing. Po had joined in with wild abandon, shock rendering him giddy and reckless. Snow still clung to his sides in icy patches--a true snowcap appaloosa now!--nearly blending in with the natural patterns of his skin. It was cold, but Ipomoea didn't notice.
As the shock had slowly worn off, Ipomoea had followed suit of many of the others, disappearing into the woods. More and more often, he had found himself needing solitude and reprieve from the crowds he often found himself in, from the hustle and bustle that had a way of clouding his mind. The animated snowman, and the many horses surrounding him, was no exception: Po could handle the excitement and novelty for a short while. But eventually, his energy would crash, and as those levels dropped, the need for peace and quiet would rise alarmingly quickly within the young Emissary.
'Perhaps your duties are getting to you?'
Ipomoea's halt was abrupt, snowy legs planting into the soft (cold) snow underhoof. The familiar, yet infrequent, voice speaking within his mind was surprising to hear; in the year since rescuing Odet, he had only heard the songbird speak telepathically a scant few times.
And even then, each of those times had been within the last fortnight.
Ipomoea's pale red eyes lifted to the treetops, trying to pick out the blue of his friend from the dark, snow laden canopy looming overhead. But if Odet was nearby, Po certainly couldn't see him. He flicked his short black tail lazily behind him, one mottled ear tilting back instinctively as the voice inside his mind continued. 'It is quite a change from your old lifestyle after all, maybe you're more accustomed to books than fellowship now...'
”No." Ipomoea interrupted his bonded out loud, a waver in his voice. ”I'm just..." his voice trailed off into the frigid winter air. He was what? No excuse that came to mind seemed to accurately categorize how the young stallion was feeling. His brain had turned to mush, the warning signs of a headache blossoming at his temples. He closed his vivid eyes in frustration. ”I don't know what's wrong with me..."
'Hush, Ipo,' the steller's jay used the nickname fondly, his voice gentle and comforting. Ipomoea felt a familiar weight settle atop his poll, and he didn't need to look to know it was Odet nestling himself into the crown of flowers woven there. 'You have company...'
And he was right. As the jay bird began braiding a new plait from Po's charcoal mane, the rose-colored boy turned to see a flash of yellow skin through the trees. He could make out a distinctly equine figure standing not far from him, partially obscured by the vegetation. Just how far had he wandered? It hadn't felt like long, but surely he was deeper in the woods now than he had meant to be. And now here he was, talking out loud as if to himself! Po had not been expecting company, but he was sure he must have looked pretty crazy to an outsider's perspective.
”Hello?" he called hesitantly, stepping around a particularly wide tree trunk to get a better view of the small horse--foal? No, he had no baby fuzz or features on him--perhaps he was just short.
A flash of spiraling horns caught his attention, leading his gaze to the white streaks across the Solterran's face from which mellow violet eyes shone. He was familiar, but only vaguely--it took Po a moment to place his face to a memory, despite it having only occurred a short time ago.
”Oh!" A smile split across his face, and he immediately stepped closer. ”You were at the gathering back there." He remembered him now: could see in his mind the dun fellow handing by the back. He had seemed unwilling to join in then, as though afraid of drawing too close--but the two of them were alone now, and Po had never considered himself to be all that intimidating. ”That was, well, unexpected wasn't it?"
He tried to make a joke out of it, an attempt to mask his own feelings about the recent, and incredibly random, event. ”I mean, it's not everyday that you meet a talking snowman!"'Let alone build one.'
As the words left his mouth, released into the space separating the two equines, a moment of hesitation struck Po, feeling as though a weight were squeezing his airway shut. What if his mind had made the whole ordeal up? A boy emissary, hearing voices in his head, hallucinating a walking, talking, joking snowman...
Perhaps he was going crazy after all!
@Tamran! ”here am I!”
pretty ooc for po, but this was fun to write~
He sought her out in the darkness, his silver form flickering in hues of orange and gold as the lanterns shed their light — she must have come here, his savage Davke Queen, and in truth he had a question to ask her... a boon.
Tinea Swamp was a filthy place, and he would not have come if he hadn't been so eager to find Avdotya... and yet even now he peered down at the swampy earth with distaste, holding up a hoof as he scowled — no matter how beautiful the Terrastellans tried to make this place, it was still just a swamp.
Lorca released his scowl and peered around him once more, golden gaze coy and sharp... there was plenty of fun to be had at a festival, and certainly a lot of secrets to read upon the parchments tied within the sighing trees around him. Moving further into the swampland, Velorca paused to peer at himself within the surrounding waters, still and mirror-like.
His soft lips curled into a vain smile, for his skin was made of satin steel, and his bones cut from the finest porcelain — he was adonis, beautiful and golden eyed. He was a viper clothed in arrogance, standing alone underneath the lantern lit dome of swamp trees.
Word of Florentine's winter celebration had reached the Regent's ear through passersby in the streets, the details of which she later happened upon when the formal invitation had found its way to her chamber. Festivals were no favourite of hers and a sour curl befell her lips at the thought of attending; she cared not for the passing of the seasons, nor did she ever find herself yearning to mingle within a crowd... but something drove the mare to slither past Dusk Court's borders towards its festivities. At the very least, she had an image to uphold in her own Court - for now - and it would reflect poorly upon herself if she were to refuse the invite. Nevertheless, every step was taken begrudgingly. She'd be damned if she was expected to actually show any shred of enjoyment, feigned or not.
When the woman rolled in, she was quick to slough the attention of others with a venomous stare. They were quick to realize their salutations were unwanted, though Avdotya lingered near them. She listened, quietly collecting bits of information until she found herself intrigued by one particular segment of the event. There were notes to be left in the haggard boughs of Tinea's weeping willows, personally written pieces meant to bring warmth to an otherwise frigid land. The viper grinned a dangerous grin, then peeled away from the crowd as though she had never been there.
As she skulked through the darkness of the evening, Feliks' lanky canid body joined her at her side at a languid trot. She knew not of where he had come from or what he had done in their time apart, but she knew she could always count on the hound to return to her when he was needed. Even in the infancy of their connection, they had become an effective pair; Solis seemed to know what he was doing when he brought them together, and so, Avdotya found herself moving with greater confidence as they pressed into the heart of the frozen swamp. With her note already written, it was simply a matter of leaving the parchment for others to read... but only at the most opportune of times.
She waited- waited until the last festival-goer had left the swamp for the inviting thrum of music that reverberated from Susurro Fields. Feliks himself confirmed their solitude with a subtle nod when no other scent but their own blew in the winter winds, but continued to patrol even still. Avdotya, in the meantime, easily wound her way through the forest of notes until she reached the very centre of them all. There, she hung her paper for all eyes to read.
"Once tainted,
a nation dies;
once betrayed,
revenge survives."
With no name undersigned, she left it for the hens to take back to their roost come morning light.
You’re playing my game now-- @ANYONE & EVERYONE!!!
**NOTE: Although Avdotya has left, feel free to reply to this thread if you wish! :) Please be aware that there were no witnesses, aka no one knows who left the note!!!
The invitation had set his Court afire with excitement — a great, big party at Dusk! Calligo's people adored a good party, and hosted some of the best themselves, but to visit another Court and mingle with others from all over Novus? That was an occasion nobody in Denocte wanted to miss, save for some of the darker souls littering their Southern territory. It had made his own chest swell with a sense of pride, then a burning flash of something akin to anxiety... for if Florentine was now Queen, it laid her open to the corrupt and the greedy, to purveyors of crimes even the King of Thieves rejected.
It made her the masthead that all of Novus would look to if ever war threatened again, the face of Dusk. The thought set his stomach churning, shadows coiling like ink around the rough lines of his chest and underneath his ebony hair. Still, he had to have faith that his honey-sweet girl was the right choice, that she was not too gentle to rule a Court... to fend off suitors —
The thought had his black lip curling, silver eyes narrowing as he trotted after the dancing, jostling crowd heading toward the mountain pass. They would emerge at Praistagia Cliffs and likely make their way through the festivities from there. Reich grinned as he caught sight of golden flesh, a flash of endless hair, the glint of a knife — the Crows were on their way to the party.
They gestured for him to join, but The Night King had another escort waiting — one wreathed in moonfire and Dusk itself.
Dusk had defences even the King of Thieves struggled to sidestep, slipping like a shadow through the early hours of the morning to find his girl. That dainty woman made of honey and lilac, so strong she was able to control his emotions — set his great heart thundering, turn his already hot blood to boiling. Florentine, the new Queen of the Dusk Court.
The fact that his lover was now the Queen of an opposing court had not been whispered into the Night King's ear, his silver gaze hadn't swept over a scroll informing him of the change — he was blind to all things Florentine, blind but to gaze at her honey gold curls and the smile that made him inexplicably happy. So, foolish as he was, Reichenbach slid into Florentine's old room with a coy smile. He exuded mischief and power, gliding into the room silently and smoothly, the only tell of his presence being the faint scent of woodsmoke and jasmine.
Shadows began to dance and flicker around him as he drew further into the room, excitement setting them into motion. It was a new magic, this strange connection to the shadows, something he had shrugged off as Calligo's tampering, refusing to look further into the phenomenon for fear that he would not like what he found if he did. Reichenbach paused, his long lashed eyes narrowing through the murky darkness — Florentine was not there.
Without intending it, his heart skipped a beat, a low burning beginning within his chest. If she was not in her room in the early hours of the morning, where was she?
Frowning, Reichenbach tried not to dwell on the absence, slipping back out of the room with a soft tinkling of coins. He peered down the hall, at a loss, if only for a moment.
@Florentine & anyone who wants to inform this supposed knower of secrets that his lady is actually a Queen aha
Small crafts of paper, held aloft by flame. They would be ripped to shreds by the wind if they were so much as buffeted in the wrong direction. They were so fragile, falling apart when touched as lightly as the breeze from a butterfly's wings.
And it was these things that were supposed to carry off the past year, and carry the wishes for the new one.
It was fitting, in a way. These things were so delicate, so easily broken. All it would take was one wrong move and everything the people of Novus hoped for for the coming year would come tumbling down. Everything would be ripped to shreds on the wind, the voices of their wishes quashed by the gale.
Yet people still put their faith into these lanterns, still poured their hearts and their souls into the crafts and believed with all their hearts that they would safely carry their hopes and dreams off to the heavens, to be brought upon them in the coming year. They put their faith in these small scraps of paper and measly flame to carry off whatever negativity may have weighed them down in the year before, to safely escort the demons of the past away from their lives without tearing and unleashing pandora's box.
The common sense in the stallion wanted to shake his head, to warn those who stood on the cliff side not to place such faith in such delicate contraptions, to be wary of the dangers the world held. To not trust in something more delicate than gossamer and more prone to breaking than hearts.
But that would never stop them, and for some reason, it didn't stop him either.
He stood on the cliff, away from the rest of the congregation, face tilted towards the sky as he watched the lanterns of others floating in the frigid air. He stood alone, in the dark and the cold, away from the fire and warmth, an unlit lantern by his hooves and the sound of waves breaking on the shore below surrounding his quiet breaths.
He stood silently, a light wind coming in from the ocean tugging just so at his mane, keeping the forelock away from his eyes and ruffling the paper of the lantern by his hooves, held down by the weight of the lighter tucked away inside.
Perhaps it would be poetic to say he contemplated the fragility of wishes and just how much of Novusean society was held up by sheer faith. But he didn't need to contemplate such things, to someone who skulked in shadows and watched from a distance, it was already so very clear.
So he didn't contemplate anything, really. He just watched the floating lanterns drifting off to sea, the distant murmur of voices and the sound of the wind in his ears the waves of the ocean his only company. And he thought, for a moment, how funny it was that it was the dead of winter, and yet the lanterns in the far distance might even be mistaken for fireflies.
The air was crisp. The sun had already begun to set, creating a mirage of colors that was mesmerizing. A restless wind tossed about; sometimes gentle, at times harsh and spirited with a raging heart. Faye enjoyed the press and pull of such winds; not as strong amidst the forest trunks – but as she breached the forest and drew closer to the cliffs, she could almost hear the wind whispering in disjointed lulls. For it was oddly quiet and still as she approached the newfound lands. Lacking the sweet, honeyed tones of finches, chickadees, and all the murmurings of a living forest. The silence was somehow consumed by the mare’s thoughts of isolation. The silence a void, an endless expanse to erase and dismantle the voices caught within her head. Briefly, she felt some relief from their weight. Though as the moment passed, she became thin and frail. Unbound to the earth, as restless as the wind without a home nor claim to that new life she deeply coveted.
But, did it really exist here? In this land of Novus? Wasn’t it more than peace that she sought for, more than simply a home or that so called, ‘new life’? A new beginning? Beyond her knowledge, she clung to her old roots. Perhaps she felt even inclined to uproot them, for the sake of grafting a new branch in these lands of Novus – in Terrastella, paradise?
She huffed, annoyed with herself – having gone too deep into her own mind. The palomino maiden shook her head briefly, approaching the crystalline waters lapping at the edges of the cliffs. Having felt foolish, she forced herself to smile. It was beautiful here, after all… The equine seemed kind here; she had found a new home at last!
There was much to celebrate!
But as she turned her gaze upon the cliffs, she could not ignore the pangs of loss; reminding her what was at stake here. The sacrifices; seemingly mindless and unnecessary, seeding doubts into her weary eyes.
It seemed that in the wake of the setting sun, a few stars had begun to creep out into the darkening sky.
The first of them to cross the borders and enter a realm too early for their allotted time was a star with a coat as dark as the night they represented, adorned with the mossy green of spring and with two emeralds in place of eyes. Adorning their skull was a crown of golden antlers, a crown of sunlight to adorn the night.
The stars they came to represent twinkled in their eyes as the equine slipped easily from the trees, emerging onto the edges of the fields as the distant flickering of fire light enticed their senses. They shook their hooves lightly, removing an attached petal that had clung to their fetlocks with easy grace. They had taken a slight detour to walk the boardwalks in the swamplands, enjoying the soft torchlight and pawing at the dangling glass baubles with a curious hoof, watching how they danced and spun as they shimmered in the flickering light. It seemed that some of the petals that had lined the boardwalks wanted to come with them.
They stepped forwards, green hooves sinking into the soft layer of snow on the ground, the spring-like colors being swallowed up like the plant life had been by the very same substance. Their ears twitched as they trod across a clean, untouched expanse. There was such a childish joy to be had in stomping around in fresh snow.
Seree may have indulged in a few bounding jumps here and there, sending flurries of white crystals flying up around them with their laying as they played like a foal, kicking at the fallen snow.
But while the snow was ever so much fun, it would be present throughout all of winter, and they could find it back in Denocte.
These things could not be found in Denocte.
Well, things of similar kind could, but not these festivities in particular. For instance, they would be quite hard pressed to find such lovely tupelo wine back in Denocte's borders, but here, it overflowed in great abundance, the fruits having been plucked from the trees in the swamp land in the autumn to ferment them for winter festivities.
As the Night Court's Champion of Healing came upon a small gathering by firelight, they were quick to snag one of the bottles of that very substance left out among the refreshment with their telekinesis, raising it to their lips and downing nearly half of it in one go before pausing for breath. Their tongue ran over their lips as the alcohol promised to sing in their veins, a placebo effect already taking place as their body seemed to burn with the fiery need to dance and make merriment.
Of course, such was often their normal state as well, so little could be said for it being the effects of the alcohol alone. It was only emboldened by the substance.
Gold and red decked the surrounding areas, happy voices and celebratory conversation filling the air as horses from all reaches gathered together to celebrate the coming of spring. Seree said nothing, only a smile gracing their lips and the only sound of their voice being that of their laughter as they gave carefree abandon to their appreciation of the witty humor in the conversation. They momentarily found themselves with a dilemma as they went to investigate some of the sweet treats to be had, but found that they would not be able to sustain both of the confections they wished to try and their drink with their telekinesis, it was too much.
With a much put upon sigh, the equine set their bottle down gently so that they might pick up a pastry of sweet, fruit stuffing, and one of powdered sugar. They hurriedly shoved nearly half of the powdered sugar confection into their mouth at once, making a very happy noise with pricked ears as the flavor hit their tongue. It wasn't the most extravagant of treats, but it was quite delicious nonetheless. They were quick to polish it off, now having the ability to pick their drink back up again, of which they indulged in a swig after their bite to eat.
With powdered sugar on their lips, Seree rejoined the fireside group, the call to dance momentarily held at bay as they listened to words traded and enjoyed some sweet refreshments.
OOC: This thread is open for all! Seree's here to meet new peeps and reconnect with those they've known before. They haven't been in many threads yet, but those they have threaded with are more than welcome to recognize them and say hello! And anyone else is welcome to message me about having 'met' Seree before as well, as they wandered Novus for a year before coming to Night, so everyone's welcome to come say hi! Just be warned you may be dragged into a bit of dancing at some point. ;)
