Love, love is a verb Love is a doing word Feathers on my breath Gentle impulsion Shakes me, makes me lighter Fearless on my breath Teardrop on the fire Fearless on my breath;
There was a subtle comfort in the silence that surrounded the forest around Suriel. She took a deep breath of the clean air, and even though the trees around her were thick and tall, she still felt nice here. She still felt at home. Her white muzzle pressed against the air and she took another deep whiff, closing her eyes with a satisfied feeling curling up inside her. Sometimes Suriel even wondered about her mother, Catarina, and whether or not she felt any guilt for what she did to her. But there really wasn't any need to concern herself with that. She had friends, well, she had some friends. She had a purpose in life or she hoped to find one. She took in another breath before opening her eyes.
She hadn't been traveling for too long, but now the darkness was slightly lighter though still considered 'night' and she wondered if she had been out here all night, she couldn't remember. Time seemed to fly by so fast sometimes, out alone in the woods on the border of these lands she had come across. A soft breeze ruffled through her little spot and she was brought back to the present. It was still dark, but the moon was hidden behind some sneaky clouds.
Of course, the night was beautiful, and she could stick around until the sun came up at least. A little tune slowly began to burble out of her, in just a soft little hum, so she wouldn't make herself fall asleep. Slowly though, words began to form and she couldn't help herself, but she made sure not to fall asleep herself, trying to turn it outwards. The words always came naturally to her, like it was her own little language, but that's what had helped her get through her day. It seemed silly now, yet the song still came so natural and easy. She kept it soft though, without the gusto she usually sang it with, merely singing it to herself. The sky didn't seem to be getting any brighter, but Suriel didn't feel as tired anymore, even a little more awake. Perhaps her songs could do what they liked for her.
A part of her had been hesitant to leave Terrastella behind, trepidation alight like a smoldering ember within her breast. There were other warriors, she knew, highly capable men and women who could protect the Dusk Court if need be, but she loathed to be so far away from the place that she had begun to feel was home. Diarmuid would protect Terrastella, and Ki’irha would as well, once she had recovered from her trying ordeal. It would be in good, capable hands until their return. Besides, they had been given a mission, and they could not simply go back or disregard the task in which their newly appointed Sovereign had entrusted to them.
Florentine had given them a task; go and assist the citizens of Solterra. Simple enough. They were offering aid in the form of their healers, with Isorath and Evangeline in her company to see the task through. Israfel herself was no medic or healer, lacking much familiarity with such a cherished ability; she was a warrior, a fighter, a defender, and had been tasked in keeping her traveling companions safe. It was a job in which she readily took to heart. Unfamiliar as she was with the battle prowess of Isorath or Evangeline, the Sun Daughter would do all that she could to keep them safe along their trek.
It took days, their journey. Terrastella was not close to Solterra, not at all, and due to Evangeline’s lack of wings, they travelled by ground. The Day Court proper was on the polar opposite side of Novus, and it would be a daunting journey, but one she was willing to face with bravado and determination. Occasionally Israfel would take to the skies to scout out their path ahead, but would dutifully return to her companion’s sides, never straying too far or for too long. Eventually the terrain began to shift, rolling plains turning into rocky crags as they ascended the mountain ranges of Novus, but that too changed into the sandy dunes of Solterra’s vast desert. This would mark the Sun Daughter’s maiden venture into Solterra, and she couldn’t contain the thread of excitement that thrummed through her veins at the notion.
Solterra was the land of the sun, paying homage to Solis. Sol. Sun. As the Daughter of the Sun God himself from Helovia, she felt a familial sort of tie to these lands; from the cresting dunes of pale sand to the mighty of the sun in the sky, she felt so very alive amidst it all, welcoming the heat that cascaded down upon them as they traveled. Inevitably, they arrived to the Day Court proper, halting just outside of the massive stone walls and the entrance of the fortress. Israfel did not want to simply traipse foolishly into a Court that was not their own, not when Solterra had so recently lost their Sovereign, Maxence. It was, after all, the very reason as to why they were there. It was daunting, the fortress, a mighty shelter granted to those hardy enough to survive such grueling conditions. Clearing her throat, tongue dry from their trek across the desert, pausing to rest at the Oasis for a night and quench their thirst, Israfel called out, flanked on either side by Isorath and Evangeline. They were her shield-siblings, and she, theirs, and together they would do what was needed before returning home.
“Solterra!” She called, her voice hoarse from the dry air, sweat darkening her ivory hide as gilded wings flexed upon her shoulders, “We have come from Terrastella, sent by Lady Florentine! She has sent us to offer aide in whatever way that the Day Court may need in such trying, difficult times.” Vermilion eyes glanced to her left, focusing on Isorath, and then to her right, glancing to Evangeline, and thus grew quiet, allowing them to say their piece or regard the situation with silence. Hopefully they would not be turned away, but Florentine had been confident that they would be welcomed among the Solterrans. She could only pray that the loss of Maxence would not have affected their welcoming.
@Isorath @Evangeline and anyone from Day Court! Florentine has sent Evangeline, Isorath, and Israfel to Solterra to offer assistance in the wake of Max's passing.
He couldn't believe everything he had held dear had seemingly vanished over night. He had been on the move ever since silently searching for the family he missed so much. His heart was broken, a fragment missing since Zafir had vanished. Images of her icy blue scales and scarlet eyes flashed through his mind. Shuddering he shoved the thoughts away trying to focus on the sloping ground below his hooves. His long locks had become a wild without Zafir's deft claws consistently smoothing the mess. The dual colored eyes that gazed down at the uneven mountain side were listless. he couldn't count the days he had been alone searching for some sign of the ones he had lost.
A buffeting gale whipped at his powerful body causing him to slip.With a startled squeak the stallion found himself tumbling down the mountain. His eyes shut tight and he tried his best to pull his legs in close to keep them safe. He knew pain was coming, was sure his skin would be ragged and ripped by the time he stopped. Bewildered he merely slammed into achingly familiar sand. His eyes flew open hope sparkling deep within his mangled heart. 'Please...' As he lifted his large skull marked head he knew he wasn't back home. "I'll never see the Dragon's Throat again." A tear scorched it's way down his white and cream cheek as he pulled himself to his feathered hooves.
He was no stranger to deserts and there was no fear in his eyes as he looked around. "How did I end up here?" Brow furrowed he sniffed the breeze. The sun was just turning the sky to a rosy pink and he watched it slowly rising above him. Maybe someone had found this place as well. It was no Throat, but it might due,if he could find some food and water. Thoughts of the oasis flashed through his mind and he assumed there might be another around here somewhere. First he needed to get his bearings. he looked back towards the rising sun and closed his eyes focusing on his instincts. Satisfied he turned and plowed through the sand eyes set on a large dune.
He struggled for a few minutes before he remembered his younger life and they way he had moved through the sands of his foal-hood home. It became easier as he pulled his bone marked bulk above the rise. He tilted his head as he turned in a circle surveying the endless sea of sand around him. Still he was not worried, what good would that do him? Sighing he closed his eyes and lowered his head thinking out a plan; assuming he was on his own.
---------------------------
Talk
Words :: 452 @Ranjiri Everyone is welcome! <3 He fell in from a portal xD
The lake is a mirror. Still and serene, it reflected the night's own beauty back at it, showing Calligo her ethereal face in silent wonderment and reverance. Cradled within the sleeping hills, the wind carried the muted hum of the Night Court's nightly reverie. Drums sounded like warning of thunder from this distance, and the lifted voices a choir to beckon it on. Then there is the faint smell of perfume smoke drifted on the autumnal wind, woodsy and sweet in the same breath and it filled the Kirin's chest with sparks.
The night was intoxicating here, while the rest of the world slept and slumbered peacefully onward, the Court of Stars burst to life with a passion that would put the sun to shame. Where his bones should of wanted to lay low, instead they're urged forward. Long limbs graceful and melodic as they struck against the banks of the lake.
Entranced and caught on the music, the sights, the smells. The bonfires stretched the length and breath of the shadowed kingdom. From the praire to the mountains, he has spied the unyielding flames and the wisps of voices caught in euphoria. He himself is his own music, the gold pieces of his hair ornaments and those attached to the noise and earring piece upon his face sang softly into the night. Even those on his tail, which curled in luxurious arcs behind him, the strands of starlight twinkled and shimmered in the light of the moon, hummed their own melodic tune.
Here he shimmered and glowed, beneath Calligo's watchful gaze. He glowed and found peace, the Court walls provided safety, a security and luxury he had been birthed and raised to. Plush pillows and the sultry smell of jasmine and incense, they're a comfort. A silk sheet and a soft pillow to lay upon and in as the morning rose and night fell. Isorath had fled into the night like a comet, wings outstretched as he danced across the night sky. Never once coming down until he'd seen the lake. There he had descended like an oracle, silver strands long, loose and windswept as porcelain hooves had touched the blessed cool of the grass.
Then he had run, like a ghost across the lake side. To where he was now, slightly breathless as he moved to the rhythmn of the night. What had he run from exactly? And the thought alone caused his elegant dance to falter, the music which chimed off him stuttered with the motion and he stilled on the edge of the lake.
Why had he fled? Why had he chased the stars until he had found his current sanctuary?
Slowly, ever so slowly he'd drawn to a stop. Lilac's stared out at the water mirror in front of him as tendrils of his mane billowed in the night breeze and wrapped around his frame, cloaking him in an ethereal mist. You could lie, one part of him whispered, which in turn caused the simmering essence of his soul to give a painful lurch. Or, one other piece of him supplied, it's voice no better than talon raked against his walls, you could just admit it to yourself.
"Look where that's gotten me before." He responded to no one in particular, long white lashes fluttering against his sharp cheeks and the scales lovingly lined there. Slowly, the winged Kirin lowered himself upon the bank. Wrapped in his own hair and wings, glittering beneath the canopy of stars, smoke and perfume. "Nothing but suffering, that's where." The prince added after a breath, his voice a quiet hum as he settled in for a night of star gazing. Let his mind be wrapped up and lost in everything magical about this place, than the shackles his own thoughts often left him with.
The quiet still of the rising sun drug lazily across the sky, the bright colors beating the clouds into a orange-tinted red. And just as lazily as the sun, the large stallion trekked his way across the hole-pocketed dirt of the battlefield, the soil compacted over time by vicious hooves, bodily fluids, and now his own hefty weight.
Crimson eyes glanced down to the war-torn soil, one hoof perched precariously on the edge of a long-abandoned gopher hole... and while at first he was concerned that this place was less than fit for him to use as any sort of battle ground, he found himself chuckling. It just so happened that his hooves were even larger than the gopher holes themselves, eliminating a good majority of his own risk - but still not quite guaranteeing his safety.
Messily braided tail smacked impatiently at his hocks, and his eyes peeled up away from the soil and its imperfections. Instead, he proceeded forward - towards the center of the makeshift arena. It was oddly quiet, but Tor was not stupid; he knew there was someone always lurking along the edges, tucked away with in the forest as they waited for their opportunity to strike. He was not at all scared of that idea.
Ombre ears slipped back to rest flat against the crown of his horns as he peered about the arena. He knew he smelled someone familiar.
"Come out, feathers," came the low rumble, eyes scanning the tree-line, just looking for any sign of the white stallion. "You're not as quiet as you like to think you are," came the rolling chuckle, hearty and deep within his throat.
Summary: Tor walks into Bellum, inspects the gopher holes, and then proceeds to the center of the arena. He calls out to Aion, who he knows is waiting somewhere in the shadows of the arena's edge.
Posted by: Only - 11-12-2017, 07:27 PM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
Only feels haunted today.
It has been weeks since he first thought he saw her. Over time, this delusion grows worse and worse like infection - it festers in between his ears until his mind is feverish with the idea. It was not Florentine that drew the midnight murderer into the dark-dark depths of Tinea - not at first - the red girl in white had been there first. Only is certain of this and so is Stephan. Together, their eyes stare as far out into the wintry void off shore and it stares back at him.
Soon, Only tells Stephan who buzzes fever hot like venom underneath skin, soon - we will see her again.
For once, they agree on something.
Faida.
The storm continues on,
-the wind and the rain - it rages.
The ocean roars as it makes murderous monsters out of life-giving water.
And the waves,
-they rise up and they roll,
-they twist and they turn,
-they make spiraling mountains out of molecules -
Then, they bash themselves into oblivion against the rocks that make up most of the spit which reaches far out of the inlet. Only is too distracted to know the dangers of being so close to the actual edges of this world - too distracted with a burning pain that itch-itch-itches deep under his skin. Her scar. The first and last time he ever saw the Hydra and learned of her name.
The storm elevates as lightning laces thunderclouds together in brief flashes of white-light.
Snow white Faida.
Astart, as beautiful as poppies, as toxic as mercury, that red-red muse of his - of Stephan's.
Wind knots and tangles the wild mane of yellow hair, the black skin is slick with salt-water, his bleachy eyes stare into the void of a storm and it stares back at him. She is here. She is here. Stephan paces like a panther in his cage, screaming and laughing as he knocks his forehead against the cement walls until it bleeds.
He feels her before he sees her.
He tastes her before he smells her.
.. but he waits.
..
You never turned. She coos, Only's eyes close as a warm and tangled feeling arises within him. The duality that makes Stephan -Stephan and Only - Only blurs in such a way that, in a sense, he is an entire whole when addressing her. The scar on his neck feels fresh again - the rain streams off of the raised edges of it the way the blood once did. He has nothing to say to that, his heart stills when she curls around him as intimately as the storm has and he welcomes her. You never joined me. She says with all the sorrow he has only ever heard the Sea sing with.
"You terrify me," comes a breathless reply - he realizes that he has forgotten to breathe.
"You haunt me," Only leans into her touch with a need he never knew he had.
"I hated you. Everywhere I look I see you but you are never there." Only's voice steels itself against the dulling wind and cuts sharp against her soft quivering neck. He wants to tear her open but he wants to keep her whole as well. He doesn't know what he wants - - clarity, perhaps.
"How do I know you are even real this time?" For his delusions of Faida have led him down dark-dark paths into unspeakable night terrors.
.only
+
@Faida (almost tagged Flora LMAO) All his f-word friends.
It is colder here than she has ever known it. The winds howl, their voice haunting, their breath frigid. They weave between the girl’s feathers, her hair, her petals. They sink down to her skin and she is sure the frost begins to draw across her skin.
She steps from the edge she landed upon and folds her outstretched wings tight against her side. The wind swirls about her, tugging her mane hither and pulling petals away thither. All about her the winds speak and whisper and whine. But Florentine does not listen.
Her amethyst gaze fixates upon Vespera’s altar and from the outside of the temple it appears to only be sewn together with purple-pink shadow and the birth-light of early evening stars. Rannveig was supposed to bring her here once, to help her understand the gods: who were they, what were they?
Slowly the time-traveller girl steps forward, her dagger presses cold touches against her breast. One to remember one world, a second to remember another, on and on and on the dagger presses over her heart – a rhythm where each beat was the memory of a world she had visited. There were not enough steps for all the worlds she had seen and she is in front of Vespera’s altar before she breathes again.
She had met gods before. Seen their magic, learnt the laws of their world, their place, their time. But she had never worshipped them – Florentine was too free for that, no one place had ever stayed as home for long. Novus has suddenly become so filled with anomalies. She was never supposed to stay anywhere, yet here she was, held against her will by her beloved dagger that had lost its magic. Here she was, never a girl to want to follow in her father’s footsteps and yet, just like him, Florentine has found herself inadvertently charge of a Court.
The crown felt heavy, she knew it would.
Slowly her eyes close and she listens to the wind that continues to howl and wonders how to pray. Was it a silent thing? Was it spoken? What should she say?
“I don’t know whether you exist. I mean, I haven’t met you, I have met other gods and so I know they exist. Why have you left everyone?” She pauses, suddenly wishing she had been more hesitant. Each word had been filled with too much thought, too much consideration to ever be apologetic for her lack of belief.
“I seem to be sovereign and I am sorry I am not someone who believes – is that a bad thing? I guess you would prefer someone who believes…” The flower girl trails off, watching a petals that falls like a lament from her hair. She is not sure the lament is for Vespera so much as for her and her questionable ability to pray.
“Also, I want to apologise for coming to seek you out before but being distracted by Reichenbach instead.” A soft sigh escapes her lips as her gaze lifts from where it had fallen to the foot of the Dusk altar. She was not sure prayer was for her, it seemed awkward and like hard work, yet as sovereign and a girl with no ability of time travel, maybe now was the time to start to try and let the gods in.
A spectre railing within the moon's embrace, a girl they did not know - for all the months Rhoswen had spent here in the desert and the sand, still she felt a stranger to the inhabitants. The sun praised her, danced with her, sang her a lullaby her heart longed to hear, but the biblical warriors with their long stares and cold eyes lingered on in her dreams at the break of twilight. And she had turned away, tracing endless roads on a map tucked into her pocket, in hope of redemption. There was none, nothing out there in the wild except freedom, and that in itself was a fickle promise. What was freedom if you had no-one to share it with? So at last she had returned, with a tepid colour of fatigue woven between her ribs. Rhoswen was tired of running and finding emptiness; she was a creature carved from the volcanic mountainside, not one destined for woe; all this languish, this brooding, it was chipping away at her resolve until she was but a flint of hard cool stone. Sharpened and dormant. Rhoswen drew closer, the shadow of the great castle appearing through the darkness - imposing as ever. With Maxence gone the Court needed her now more than ever, and this time she had no intentions of absconding.
@Raum i know it's TINY but i just wanted to get up a starter <3 am going easy on my muse!
In the heart of the Delumine's capital city, deep in the confines of the Dawn's castle, a witch stuffed her nose into books. At the bottom of the great library, near the catacombs, she was at the center of a circle of sprawled tomes. With the tender tendrils of her mind, she flipped through the crumbling pages of each book, the ancient parchment frail beneath her curious nose. Runes and ink were faded along each page, each leather bound spine. But she was content; more at home in the darkness and slithering shadows at the lowest level of the library. Deep in the soul of her kingdom's most beloved place; a plethora of knowledge just waiting to be found in every scroll and book found on the shelves. A treasure trove of wisdom worth more than gold and jewels.
She penned through a volume of history, recorded centuries past when the continent of Novus was still new, albeit unnamed, the four kingdoms barely a thought. Nimue commonly found herself looking through the histories, digging in to educate herself on the makings of each Court. How the sons and daughters that ruled their skies came to pass; their story the flicker of the match that burned and cleared the way for each kingdom. Dawn, Day, Dusk, and Night. She could have used her Sight, and possibly might have even known what she was searching for before.. before mortality, before earthling memory stole away most of what she knew.
So she relied on her gifts minimally, instead only leaning on her power when she willed it. Her eyes soaking in every last drop of information from those beloved books, a ghost of a smile on her pinkish lips as she curled in the darkness and pale light of the amethyst that glowed at her throat. Blissfully in her own little world, and completely unaware of the potential company that lurked in the shadows beyond.
@zaius @kasil boop <3
this post was inspired by this amazing song from GoT.
He tries to keep his mind and body active. Regardless of his lack of allegiance to Dusk he does his best to fulfill his duties. Jude wanders further than before, scouting out the locations of specific herbs, figuring out which are accessible. Mittens scurries along after him, ever the faithful companion despite her obvious indignation at being forced from bed.
He scours the remnants of decaying branches, the robbed life from autumn. Jude occasionally make mental notes when things are familiar and makes other notes to take time for research. “I hate this,” he gives out a soft sigh but keeps walking through the decaying brush to seek out other potential resources, trying to evade the very easy sensation of self pity that pangs at the back of his mind.
![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
