The afternoon is fading to a nippy twilight. Winter is here, and all the warmth in the land seems to flee as soon as the sun dips beneath the sky. It makes the night seem somehow darker, as though it were dark enough to suck the heat from the earth-- yet from that void the stars persist, defiant. One by one they begin to show themselves, as the sun's lingering light loosens from the horizon, finger by finger, and night begins to take the stage.
Night is when his thoughts fly away, up into the sky with the heat of the desert. Sometimes he sleeps, but mostly he just wanders the melancholy halls of his mind. On this evening he also begins to walk the outskirts of the court, venturing partway into the outlying lands- Mors, Elatus, Vitae- in a large, looping circle.
It might appear like he is patrolling, but he's not really.
(You don't really do anything, do you? because then you'd have to choose one side of the fence or another. Let me tell them more of all the things you half-do... would it add up to more than one man? Or, upon closer inspection, does it all crumble to dust... All these thousands of words and thoughts-- dust.)
He walks, alone with his thoughts and the slowly fading twilight, step by step through sand and stone and sand again, swaying his head to some slow cosmic rhythm.
- - - There is no better way to know us
E I K than as two wolves, come separately to a wood
@Astarot sorry I left this so... open :o I wanted you to be able to approach Eik wherever, or even have Eik stumble upon him ^^
He's taken some time, recently, to come here. Watching the trees change color has tickled his mind with thoughts of space and time and change and the cycle of it all, the endless, tiresome repetition of days, months, years.
(lifetimes she whispers in the back of your mind, in that funny place, and you suspect you are one of many daydreams, and together you make an army of sad ghosts.)
Today is likely the last time he will come here for a while. It is a fairly long journey, and already Solterra lures him back with the task of restoring the damaged court and the promise of learning to read. Anyway, the chill of winter has stripped most of the trees of their leaves, the grand show of fall is mostly over. There is not much for him here anymore, not for a while at least.
As he wanders the half-naked forest, the orange and brown carpet crackling beneath his hooves, a soft rain begins to fall. It never rained much in the tundra he grew up in. he pauses to listen to the rain hitting the leaves and ground around him. New smells rise as the water soaks into the ground, and it feels as if he's been transported to another world. He raises his head to the sky, and the small, warmish drops pitter-patter on his face like a hundred drums. He does not smile, but a warm, calm feeling settles in his chest.
His reveries are broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, although he does not yet draw his face away from the rain- he is savoring the sensory delights of the moment. "Isn't it beautiful?" He murmurs, hushed, as though they stand in a cathedral.
- - - There is no better way to know us
E I K than as two wolves, come separately to a wood
Aren't starter posts always boring? For @Ipomoea, although I suppose anyone is welcome to join in after him ^^ (beep boop)
Posted by: Rhoswen - 11-30-2017, 07:39 AM - Forum: Archives
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Easily the shadows caress her, welcome her into places only children of the night could comprehend. She was not birthed by Caligo but certainly she was raised by her; the goddess of darkness pulling her this way and that until Rhoswen could take it no longer. Still, though, the kiss of midnight was branded subtly on her skin - if only you looked long enough.
The silvery woman slipped through the castle, listening to the gentle murmurings of her comrades behind closed doors. Candlelight illuminated the pale auburn skin smoothed over her bones, casting distorted shadows across her face. It did not take long for her to reach Seraphina's quarters, perhaps not long enough. Rhos paused, inhaling slowly, feeling the air push against her lungs until they could not expand an inch further.
There had been a quiet, stagnant moment where Rhoswen had caught Seraphina's eye in the crowd - the two woman not pausing in their activities but still the auburn-haired siren had felt something pass between them. Absence on anyone's part would be noticed, but when it was taken by a nightborne wolf, there was an undeniable stirring of suspicion in the minds of the wary. She understood: why trust a defector? Especially one that took to vanishing for many weeks? But there was no substance behind the dubiety; Rhoswen was Solis' daughter through and through.
Two knocks on the looming oaken door, and a silent breath - she waited behind an impassive mask, eyes of ash and grey ocean cascading, spiralling.
@Seraphina it's v small but i sUCKKK at starters sometimes
With the heat-obscured silhouette of Solterra's stronghold just beyond the horizon, a subtle taste of bitterness began to flourish upon Avdotya's tongue. Every passing day seemed to draw further malignance to her wandering mind and it pushed the woman to become even more of the phantom she had grown to be in Capitol's hall- the dusty old walls were more akin to a rusted cage than they ever were a lavish home. It had taken her months to realize the displeasure in her wild heart, taken the death of a freshly-crowned sovereign to awaken her and snap the viper free of her blind pursuit of power.
Now, in the wake of Maxence's demise, Avdotya saw her foolishness. A seat in the regime, while stitched with authority, meant little when there always remained a need to think of a nation. Truly, the woman did not care if her actions carried consequence for those unable to bear them... their weakness would hold no value to Solis and his realm. She was not prepared to cater to the whims of a people she (for the most part) held a distaste for- and she certainly did not wish to dabble in the pacification of thin-skinned kings and queens for their well-being.
Let chaos descend upon the courts. Avdotya would be the first to feed the flame.
For now, however, she kept her descension veiled. She required the aid of Velorca to spread word of her intentions to the right ears before she loosed the ancient might of the Davke upon Solterra once more. Of course, to do that, she first had to track him down... and for all Avdotya knew, he was off warming the bed of some witless warrior.
it's dark, there's no need for lights
when the fire in his eyes burns so bright
Darkness rippled around them as they swept through the halls of the Keep, shadows clinging like living things to their King as he passed, while Isorath remained pure and gleaming — the moon among a sea of darkness. Reichenbach strode through the halls confidently, a constant smile playing at his lips as his argent gaze swept every detail. There was a tenseness to him that came from a need to be outside, to be free of the stone walls and the finery — he could never truly rule from a Castle, for the night settled about him like a cloak, a breath of clean air after too long inside.
Finally, he took the time to look at Isorath, that same roguish grin making his eyes dance. The sage glimmered in the moonlight, his loose hair billowing silkily in the gentle fall breeze — strangely undressed, without his finery. Reichenbach preferred Isorath that way, and enjoyed following the curve of his elegant neck to the fine bones of his regal face. Dragon born indeed. Calligo crowned the Kirin in star-fire and Reich cocked his great head slightly, feeling the slide of his ebony curls against his neck. Calligo was truly accepting of all, whether they be Dusk, Dawn or even Day.
The Night King turned his attention forward once more, dancing a few steps forward to reveal the streets alight with energy and movement, scent and sound. Woodsmoke and jasmine lingered on the wind, swallowed by the smell of cooking food, teas, perfumes, candles... what the world had to offer, Denocte gladly offered too. Some curious eyes were already turning their way, gleaming in the firelight as they beheld their King with the flawless Dusk Kirin. Where shadow turned Reich near invisible, the moonlight seemed to cling to Isorath's skin desperately, turning him into a beacon of beauty and light.
"So... what would you like to see first?"
He asked, his baritone voice alight with a subtle sense of pride. He'd grown up in these markets, his sticky hands making him a menace to the stall-holders as he swept past in a mess of shadows, stars and bruises. He grinned, memories lingering in the corners of his long lashed eyes as he settled his quartz eyes upon the vision beside him.
He blew in like a storm cloud on the breeze, though there was a slight hesitance in his step as he made his way right into the heart of the Night Court. He hoped that despite the smells of the desert that clung to his skin like a jealous lover, that it was clear that he was here as a visitor rather than on any sort of official business. He was not here to make trouble for himself, not when the Denocte citizens were some of his favorite customers. They were some of the few that asked him to make beautiful things, incredible wonders of beauty and practicality that made his heart sing like a hallelujah chorus. He felt that swell begin to rise in his chest, his sky-blue gaze flitting across the marketplace with an undeniable spark. The tensions between Day and Night had been troubling to say the least, given that his business tended to expand well beyond the borders of Solterra. His loyalties lay with the desert heat and the ones who raised him and such strife had been causing him great grief. He had friends in every corner of Novus and it was disheartening to see them fussing -- but now with Maxence dead (or so it was presumed), he had not the slightest inkling of how he would be received.
The delicate wings that bore themselves like a crown, set just behind his slightly curved ears, fluttered softly and ruffled the strands of ivory and charcoal colored hair. He could imagine this place at night, the torches lit and the streets full of music. It was starkly different now, most of Denocte tended to revel in the night and thus being mid-day he imagined that most of them were asleep. There were still a few citizens who were going about their business, but not as many as he imagined there would have been if he had come a little closer to dusk. Despite the full sun of noon, Solis' toiling away above them as he moved the giant ball of light across the sky, it was chilly as autumn's grip was beginning to slide towards the winter. He had noticed on his way here that many of the trees were empty, barren of their symphony of colored leaves. He did not mind the winter as much as others did, but he had the advantage of living in the warmth of Mors so he supposed his opinion on the matter did not count.
His feet clicked upon the stones of the street, his saddle bag brimming with months of work for various clients and hopefully just to sell in the markets tonight. The stallion turned his head, looking for a space that looked relatively unused as he did not want to be rude an d take up prime space, since he was not a regular patron to the court of Night. The place he chose was just off to the right of the general area, a particular booth that looked as though it had seen better days. He supposed it would be helpful if he cleaned it up a bit, thus he set his saddlebag down against the back wall and began the meticulous task of cleaning up. It would help kill time, and perhaps let the others get used to him before the night settled in and he had to actually work on his sales pitch.
There was something tranquil in the way the sun rose that morning. The glowing sphere slipped over the horizon at a languid pace as if nothing in the world mattered. The rise of the sun always appealed and fascinated the woman on her travels; what consumed this bright beacon to do it's duty? Though she suspected it was the way of the natural world Suriel could not fathom why one would wish to do the same task throughout it's lifetime - or perhaps eternity. The logic at play was maddening if not sad that such a beast had been harnessed, if not beaten into submission. With the rise of the sun the landscape seemed to come alive with the thrill of new song shouted from the cover of the trees while the bustle of the city restarted. It was here that Suriel found herself, stuck in the void between slumber and wakefulness. Calm eyes breezed the scene of the city and took in all that happened around her, from the clang of the bells in the streets to the clatter of hooves upon the rough hewn ground.
A sigh passed through pale lips as calm eyes calculated the hulking form of some preacher. Who would wish for a life of servitude? The sun served as a potent reminder to the shackles of slavery. The former princess would have none of it. A flick of her snow white tail told to her mood regarding the very idea of it and she turned away from it's imposing form. Perhaps it was the idea of having duties, or perhaps it reminded her of her time stuck in the old musty courts of Cirrus. Those courts always threatened to destroy every ounce of adventurism in her but Suriel had escaped the iron grip of the court before she was lost. It didn't matter how she had escaped or the why. She felt like a lone blade of grass floating in the wind, being twisted by foreign currents that threatened to overwhelm her. Suriel had it all back in the time when she was lost in the coils of the snake but somehow having it all felt like she had nothing. Now however she certainly had nothing, not even a home to sleep or a friend to call upon in her hour of need. Though now she looked upon her life with more optimism than she ever had before. She was truly free to come and go without imploring to her family.
The senseless ramble of the city lapped at the edges of her mind as she traveled, her feet carrying her far from the prying eyes of many a citizen and into somewhere unbeknownst and foreign - but undoubtedly the same setup as her old home.
The moon hung low and ominous in the palest night that she had yet to see within these lands. The Lady In Blue was moving this night, traversing the open plains with an intent that surprised her. Very rarely did she see herself past the borders of Denocte -- choosing to stay where her mischief could be kept to a minimum and if trouble did so happen to lay claim to her then she had the protection of the King Crow to fall upon. But she had become malcontent, and tired of watching the world continue to dance with life and color around her. It was time that she sought out a little adventure of her own.
Uncertainty lingered in her heart, as it had been a very long tim since she had stepped out of her comfort zone other than to attend a worship on the peak just behind her. She tossed a glance at the rise of the mountain's imposing figure -- her breath a shiver in the steadily dropping temperature. Her glass-colored gaze traced the outline of the peak, wondering for just the briefest of moments if her feet knew where they were headed. She couldn't recall the last time that she had felt such an urge to leave the only home that she had ever claimed for herself.
And she had not told anyone where she was going.
Her ears fell back at the thought, a flash of memory stealing across her vision. Her warm breath left an impression on the chilled air as she refused to linger in the memory for more than the time it took to think of it. Freya's life before now had been a dark and cruel thing, and she refused to go back to it. The sapphire headpiece glinted in the moonlight, as she turned her head forward again -- listening to the crisp rustle of the plain grasses as she passed through them. Every step was a symphony of crackling that threatened to send her back to different time. The bison were gathering together for the night, taking up their places to guard the not so young youngsters that had been born in the previous spring. Winter was coming and soon she would claim them all.
lay me down in golden dandelions ‘cause i’ve been waiting
The flowers were bright and full—the very best Ipomoea could find. He had searched for them all day, carefully, critically selecting the prettiest and the most perfect, rejecting hundreds in the process. During this search had he also selected five long and sturdy strands of prairie grass, braiding them together into a hardy cord that he tied around his finished bouquet. It was impressive in size and sight, yes, the many blossoms arranged meticulously to best please the eye, but even more so in effort, for Ipomoea had devoted many hours singularly to his flower-picking task.
If this was not good enough for a god, he didn’t know what was.
He had picked the northwestern portion of the clearing, for if he were to draw a map of Novus onto the ground the northwest would align with Dawn Court, and the Dawn Court aligned with Oriens. Carefully had he laid his bouquet down amongst the grass and moss, its flowers bright against the dark green background. Without a word he bowed, inclining his head low to his ankles and paused for one, two, three long breaths. Still speechless, eyes downcast in reverence, he laid beside his offering and waited.
An expectant breeze filled the clearing atop the Veneror Peak, ruffling the petals as his bouquet lay on the ground. Ipomoea’s breath caught in his throat, straining to keep his eyes on the flowers, sure some great, miraculous sign was about to occur.
The breeze died, and the flowers became still once more.
With a huff, Ipomoea relaxed again, swishing his short tail across the ground. He wasn’t sure why he had spent so much time carefully crafting his offering, hiking the rocky paths to reach such an empty place, save that it was his duty as Emissary to align himself with Oriens. Perhaps he had expected more: his life had been so filled with adventures and with helping hands that it seemed impossible for it to have not been orchestrated by a god. To leave his journey up to pure chance seemed silly—chance would have seen him dead in the Day Court as a struggling weanling, unable to tolerate the heat and the sand and the dry. It would not have seen him, an orphan, traveling the world and ending in the Dawn Court, elected as Emissary. This was why he had taken so much care in creating his offering: he had had little to return to a god who had given him life itself, so he had decided to give him his most favorite of things: flowers.
Still, it did not seem as though his actions were pleasing to the god, for here he still lay, alone, without any sign of something greater.
It seemed silly now, in retrospect. Why would a god want flowers? Surely, Oriens had his pick of the entire meadow of Delumine! Oriens could make himself the most perfect flower, creating a new species singularly for himself, the brightest and fullest with the most intricately arranged petals—Ipomoea could see the possibilities in his mind, the beauty and detail of a god making something beautiful for himself.
It made his own offering seem small, pitiful in comparison.
A tear rolled down the Emissary’s speckled cheek. How foolish of him, to devote so much time to an unworthy gift. But what else could he have done? He knew not what would be considered worthy to a god—if only Oriens could have left instructions, a list of the things he liked most, Ipomoea would have fulfilled all of them if it meant gaining his favor. As it was, his flowers were met only with silence, and Ipomoea was left waiting.
“Oriens?” he called out, his voice sounding small and shaky. He had no idea if a god would answer a mortal—but it was at least worth a shot?
Posted by: Octavian - 11-27-2017, 01:49 AM - Forum: Archives
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Octavian
The sky was covered in clouds so grey and green they almost looked like bruises, like they were hurting as much as Octavian was. There was solace in that thought. Like something could be hurting as much as he was, wether it be physically or mentally. Octavian was both. You never realized how painful loneliness was until you were completely and utterly alone. A silence stretched over you so thick you could cut it with a knife and take a bite, there was no one to care for and no one to worry for you. It was when you were that lonely you realized no one cared about you anymore. No one remembered you either. A sheet of rain so gentle you could hardly feel it coated everything in crystal droplets, an earthy smell arouse and made everything smell fresh and new. Like a new beginning.
A sweet breeze licked the white curls of Octavian's mane and twirled them ever so gently as he walked, dew covered grass gave from the earth and stuck to the stallion's slick hooves as he walked among the trees. Everything was silent and Octavian didn't even notice it because he was accustomed to it like a second skin. Sudden sounds made him flinch like a sudden clap of thunder or a slap to the face.
Like a sloth Octavian had been moving painfully slow among the trees but now he slowed to a stop. At his hooves was a puddle as clear as crystal, an orange leaf floating idly in it, and looking in this puddle Octavian saw a ghost. The stallion was tired and worn out from walking. That was all he did these days without a purpose, walk, and it had sanded him down into a frail creature. Going at a trot exhausted Octavian quickly and made him light headed. Octavian would die soon if he kept this up and he knew it...the funny thing was that he still didn't do anything about it. Closing emerald eyes the stallion raised his head and inhaled the sweet air. If he died like this that would be just fine, he thought.
Sometimes there's beauty in the tough words- it's all in how you read them
Notes: Please welcome my gentle bean! Sorry my post sucks and it's so short, im still getting used to him! <3
![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
