Ki'irha
Thunder sprang from her hooves as she ran.
Barely more than a week ago, she had happened upon Solterra. Though her visit was meant to be just that, the moment she had stepped hoof upon the Day Court’s capital, all hell had broken loose. A monstrous beast, a creature of ancient ruin, had fallen upon the towering precipice of the desert’s center. Many had sprung to arms, following the call of their commander, and Ki’irha, ever the warrior, could not stand idly by, so she joined the fray. Yet, before anything could happen, before they could inflict damage upon the great monster, it had taken to the sky, then plunged back to earth and plucked the desert’s king off of the sandy terra and carried him off into the clear blue sky. The people had converged, and another had stepped forward, spoken of the responsibility that she and a counterpart would assume. Ki’irha hadn’t stuck around for long after that; the people needed their time to mourn, to prepare, to adjust, and she didn’t need to be in the center of their changing of guards.
But this was important.
So, upon long legs and lean muscle she flew. She crossed the desert with difficulty, nearly becoming lost and consumed within the mirages and dehydrated dunes. She had found life within the Oasis, had supped the crystal waters until she could drink no more, and then again she vanished, moving beneath the coolness of the night. She had skirted past the mountains, ignored the way they called her name, and on she continued. Legs carried her across the Bellum Steppe, forcing her past equines who tried to intercept her, tried to entice her to fight, and though she easily avoided them, she didn’t leave the battle grounds totally unscathed; a gopher hole had consumed her ankle, and the swollen joint and burning strained tendons and ligaments slowed her considerably. She followed the coast line, tracing it’s uneven length, until home came into view.
As she stumbled into Terrastella, her body threatened to give out. She had only stopped long enough at any point between her start and finish to drink and eat the bare minimum to keep her going. Her heart pounded within her chest, her lungs burned like embers had been pressed into the tissue, and her muscles ached and pulled. She had pushed herself to the very end of her limits for the past few hours, knowing she was close to home, and as she crossed into the Dusk Court’s capital, she considered, for a moment, how ironic it would be for her to have successfully made the trip, only to drop dead upon her arrival.
Finally stopping, she found herself outside of the towering citadel that marked the capital. She stood upon shaking legs, her body perilously balanced upon the trembling extremities, and her sides heaved as she fought to catch her breath. Sweat foamed across her body, and her mane rested in tangles down the nape of her damp neck. She favored her front right leg, testing it gingerly with a wince every time she attempted to place weight upon it. Sand and dust and grime dirtied her, and it would be a miracle if anyone listened to her, seeing as how disheveled and filthy she was, but she didn’t care. She had made quite the trek, and she was a messenger with important news. This could potentially change everything.
“Please,” she called out, hoping someone would hear. She was unsure if any currently resided within the looming building before her, or if any were within earshot. “I request audience with the sovereign, but everyone must hear this. I’ve come with news all the way from Solterra.”
Her head dropped, ears lax, and she swallowed hard as she tried to fight the dryness within her mouth. Though her body threatened to fall, she remained strong. What she needed was care, healing, water and food, but everything she ever did was for the good of her herd. She was diligent, and she was loyal. She would always put those she protected before her. Who knew what would come with the fall of the King of Solterra? She waited for those who had heard her to gather. She lifted her head finally, looking upon them, and began to speak.
“I know many may not know me, as I am new here. My name is Ki’irha, and I’ve spent the last week carrying this information from the Day Court. Shortly after my arrival to Solterra to visit, the city fell under attack. A great teryr attacked the capital. Many fought, myself included, but the beast escaped. When it left, it carried off a great pegasus stallion, the one named Maxence - Solterra’s king.” She looked to gauge the reaction of those before her, before again continuing. “He is presumed dead. A woman, I am unsure of her name, spoke following his capture and assumed demise, and stated that herself as well as another woman, Seraphina, needed to discuss what to do next. I am unsure of their roles within the court, but it seemed as though the citizens that gathered looked to them for guidance following the events.”
The star-swept warrior fell silent, ready to answer any questions that she could. She was unsure what this would mean, unsure what she would start with this, but she knew one thing at least - she would finally be known, and perhaps this would help her find her place as a stranger within this herd.
FROM THE GODS WHO SIT IN GRANDEUR grace is somehow violent--
Soft golden light dappled the mare’s coat as she wove through the flocks of festival-goers, a solitary shape among the masses; the air was so thick with spices that she felt she could drown in the cinnamon and ginger, and the heat was enough to make her head spin. Around her, the sounds of voices and music had dulled to a low hum. She swayed gently to the mingled melodies of festivity, twisting to the heartbeat of the crowd until she finally emerged free of it, slipping away to a grove of trees that bordered the grounds. Fireflies bobbed among the branches, little flickers of light that faded away into the night sky – they caught her eye for a long moment, little specks of life foreign to desert sands. She lingered in the shadows, then, soaking up the quiet and the dark. She had always felt more comfortable in the light than in Caligo’s darkness, but, for the moment, she found the inky blackness a comfort. It was quieter here, secluded from the bustle of the festivities, and, for a moment, she felt at peace; diplomacy and the distant clouds of warfare were far from her mind. (She’d always found Delumine tranquil, soft - Solterra was harsh and worn, unaccustomed to luster and comfort. She wouldn’t be so quick to judge its people for what they had as her contemporaries, however; knowledge and peace, so prized by the residents of the Dawn Court, could become their own menaces with enough time.) The night had dragged on much in that same haze, bleary and distinct from the reality she was so accustomed to – she felt like she was wandering outside of time, outside of her own skin, outside. There was something freeing, she realized, about being outside. Here, she was just another body drifting among a sea of others, lost in the flow.
She’d never liked parties, but maybe there was some virtue in being faceless for a little while.
Her ghostly white hair tumbled down her sides in loose waves, freed of its tight braids; she was softer, perhaps, not caked in a layer of sweat and sand, not rigid and stiff, prepared for disaster – because, in these careful, quiet moments, disaster seemed very far away. (She was alert, of course. Seraphina was never *quite* relaxed, and she remained almost hyperaware of the world around her even in this gentle lull.) She lingered among the trees, gaze turned towards the flickering silhouettes of passerby; her ears pricked forward to catch the lilting melodies of bards and musicians, and she had to resist the urge to hum along to the tune. She told herself that she didn’t know it anyways - the only songs that she’d ever learned were from Viceroy, foreign melodies that she couldn’t understand because she’d always been too scared to ask for translations. (From time to time, her native tongue felt wrong to her; like her name, whatever it was before Seraphina, she felt like he had not-quite ripped it out of her mouth. He’d found his conscience just before he’d torn it out completely. “Seraphina,” She could still hear him whisper at the back of her mind, “It means the same thing...almost.”)
As her eyes skimmed the darkness, she found them lingering on a familiar, inky shape at the edge of the crowds; she’d almost missed him in the black, the long tangles of his hair and the vicious curve of his antlers. One of Caligo’s children, draped in all the night’s shadows - Vasher. She hesitated a moment, considering her movements - relationships between Denocte and Solterra were tense, so perhaps...perhaps it would be to her advantage to appear friendly. With that in mind, she parted the crowds, whisking to approach the man. A ghost of a smile, only somewhat pleasant and not particularly warm - but certainly businesslike - curled across her charcoal lips. “Well,” She murmured, “fancy meeting you here. Is Denocte treating you well?” Her tone was cordially flat, but she couldn’t help but feel a prick of renewed injury at the memory of their last encounter.
She pushed it aside.
‘Do not go into those woods,’ They say.
“You can never be sure of your way.”
The snow’s so thick
And the ice so slick.
With your life you will surely pay.
-------
The swan boy arrives upon the crest of autumn with winter nipping at his tail. The Winter Court had called him back, a brief and tantalizing whisper that Polunin could not resist. Yet the Court of ice and snow would never hold the thrall it once had for the ebony creature of swan wings and wild heart.
His black eyes are beads as they blink into the black of the night. He is shadow here, Calligo painting him in elegant lines that sprawl and crawl their way across the stone walls of the keep.
His feet are a hiss that never parts his lips, a phantom of his warning cry. He seeks solitude but he will not be granted this. Not here, not now. The Court is awash in revelry, the song of the night too much for its inhabitants to resist. The night shivers with merriment, the skies and its stars dancing to the songs far, far below.
The swan skirts the party, clinging to the walls of the keep where the only dances are the shadows that break and ripple between fiery torches. There is a sound in the dark, a scuff of feet that rush too close, too fast beside him. Like a serpent loosed his neck uncoils, teeth snapping the hot air where his compatriot was scant moments before. His tongue still bears their taste and it makes his lip curl.
“Watch your step.” It is a warning hiss from red, red lips. Polunin is the warning snap and hiss of a swan so riled, so agitated. This merriment is not for him, yet here he is amidst the throng and his skin itches, his nape arches, his teeth clack.
His neck curls back, a serpent set to strike once again.
The sun upon his face was unpleasantly warm, when it stole him away from his dreams of that very same, radiant orb which now caused sweat to accumulate along the folds of his body, despite the season, now that it had risen to its fullest potential.
The second thing which Stavros took note of as he roused from unconsciousness to the realm of the waking was that he was laying upon his side, rather than upright, as he usually slept, and that some sort of shrub was gently brushing against his back, seemingly tousled by the wind. Wondering if he had instead given into the weariness of his ceaseless, pointless travels, and collapsed wherever here was, the stallion does not bother to open his eyes. Instead, he simply unleashes a long, sorrowful sigh, which disturbs the sand at his muzzle and sends it curling in playful, dusty plumes away from his gold-dipped face; his tail, long with a short, well kept tuft of hair upon its end, casually lifts itself from the ground behind him, and is gently laid over his side.
He cannot recall if he had fainted or not, but he alleged it was likely. A groan escapes his lips as he forces his indigo eyes open to behold the desert and the shrub beneath which he partially lays, one that becomes worried in tone as he recalls walking through a cypress wood, not a desert at all. The dream of the sun lingers in his mind as he takes note of his surroundings through blinks and the narrowed frame of his snowy lashes, and with absolute concern writ upon his weary features, the gold dappled stallion quickly rises to his hooves.
The morning sun spills over a sandstone wall that towers overhead, its corners marked by towers, and the sea is a distant, blue line on the horizon in almost every direction in which the dunes of a desert do not obscure it. Having apparently lain in the structure’s shade until just moments ago, Stavros had been roused by the sun’s vantage having gained enough height to cast the patch of desert in which the stallion finds himself in full, golden glory. Shaking his head to try and rid himself of the mirage (surely, he would remember seeing such a sight, and certainly he would recall that he’d come upon a desert, no matter how beleaguered he had been before feinting), the somber warrior is all the more confounded and worried when it doesn’t dissipate at all.
Not far from where he lays is what appears to be a gateway; lifting himself from the sand and shaking away what of it he can, the stallion adjusts his white chiton and trots towards the inherent doorway to civilization. Halting some feet from the threshold, his ears perked upwards and his gaunt body looking odd and narrow beneath the layers of his cloth covering, the unusually dirty man looks about for some sign of a sentry, or anyone, really. Believing he hears someone arriving, the man clears his throat and pivots his head in the direction of the sound, before calling out:
"Hello?" questions the pale stallion of the unseen hoof beats; prepared to fight if he must, the aged and rather road-wearied warrior was also not sure he presently had it in him.
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
The day had been a cool one full of colors. The leaves littered the ground near what few trees crowded around each other in the grassy plain of terrastella. Mostly there are grasses that are fading from their lush, vibrant emeralds and blues to the duskier oranges and yellows as they feel winters chill in their leaves. Some are thick of branch and small of leaf and those are the ones that will last through the winter. More like hedges than trees or maybe even considered weeds for their sheer abundance they scatter this part of the landscape to provide some escape from the winds that drive across the land from the sea. It is a time of change and whenever there is change there is a time for contemplation and collecting of thoughts.
At least for Weir, it is. She thinks of how she first arrived and then the decision of the sovereigns. Next came the crowds and the picking of those who hold positions of power. One day she was chosen for the champion of community and has since struggled with how best to go forward with this role. She has been her friendly self to newcomers and once followed Rannveig to the day court in hopes to be of assistance in making sure the concerns of the community were measured. But what is it that the people want? Most conversations Weir have had are those with her love Rostislav and some conversations with Reichenbach. Weir has also spoken with some members of the Dusk Court but their real thoughts never came up in their introductions. Weir decided she would like to hear what the people would like to say and then perhaps the new soverign Florentine will join them or be nearby to hear their words and if not, Weir will be there to pass them along.
She calls out across the fields and under the new stars of the setting sun. Her tone is angelic and welcoming like a songbird. Citizens of the Dusk court I welcome you to join me and speak with me. Let me hear your words about what you think about the Dusk Court and what things you would like to see happen here in your home. Her eyes are their usual soft and kind pink that shows love to all who they lay on. Her smile is a defined line across her ivory lips. She begins to start a fire where everyone can stay warm by choosing a spot of barren dirt and taken fallen limbs to the center. She collects some dried grass to start the long and lights them with a flint stone she has collected from the stone mountains. With a few strikes, a spark begins to light. She breaths gently on the fledgling light until it begins to catch the logs on fire with a few small crackles and pops.
@Florentine @Asterion @Morpho
Welcome to anyone and everyone that wants to talk about what they like, don't like, want to see happen, etc. or just come and hang out and meet the newer members!!
The ruin of a presisting haunting, those memories in which the thoughtless horrors of the past lingered, digging as barbs into the flesh, the mind. When last had the hateful let go to wild abandon, forging new paths, creating victory in the rise of a new day? Few could even remember when a time before the cruelty began, so absolute was their addiction, their obsession. Judal loathed the indulgent gluttony of fine, fair magisters, those polished, perfumed portraits blazed into his skull as an avid worshipper would, set upon the alter to whisper unfaltering prayer. And yet, no solemn oath of protection or love would be offered, only the hailmarry of desolation, of unwellness.
Perhaps it was childish, refusing to relinquish his forged ties, the brand of fire still as hot as the day it had first glided upon his skin as a sinful lover. No open wounds laid sore upon his flesh, delicate threadings of silver clothe, faultless and whole. No agonizing fear tormented him in the night, darkness, and relief, an unfamiliar companion. Time had healed all things, as was the prophet's command, a winding back of the clock to the beginning, where all things meant little in the naivety of the unknowing. He was child in what it meant to hold true freedom, a will all his own. An aggressor in the norms of society, in what it meant to be a slave, all that was his actions were long decided for him, forced into place by the sole fact that there was no other option. Rebel, or lose the power to choose, to want for something better. Feel hate, so that the daunting prospect of unrelenting fear did not consume the possibility of forgiveness.
Those great temples, a dominating shadowscape beneath which his life had played, no longer seemed so close, so suffocating. A distant monster, a titan locked beneath the lock of Zeus' reign, Judal had crossed the vast deserts, fleeing where once the red-winged birds had flown, a fond, wanting dream from eons past. Now, it seemed that there was no end to the conflict, no end to the melancholy mother, offering only her barren bones to his seeking eyes. Breathing, scorched by the sun, ashen where his thirst had remained unquenched for so long, silver mercury took into the winding dunes, the plethora of bone white grit beneath which his hooves ground to dust. How many hopefuls laid perished beneath his feet, taken to the drift when fooly had led them astray. He would survive, as was the way of his kin, the sun blood hot, smoldering within his chest, casting the flame of the forge from within, and yet, even he, the hot-blooded fool, found no love for this purgatory he walked. Some had whispered of another land, a world brought anew beneath the guidance of civilized world, a promise that while tempting, had little weight in his steps. Whether they existed or not, he would see the other side of the wastes, wound find a place free from both chains and empty kinship, and build his life anew. Speak
Posted by: Kasil - 10-31-2017, 02:23 PM - Forum: Archives
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KASIL
The wind was whipping against his face, a cold breeze that promised the coming of the winter season and his breath visible in the chilled morning air. He had climbed the summit on his own, the wind making it just a little too dangerous for him to fly. He saw it as a sort of pilgrimage, which he did not mind so much as he had quite a heavy burden to carry - his first visit to the worshipping grounds since his anointment as King of Delumine. Now that he was here it seemed that all the excuses he had been using were quite inconsequential, just a way for him to abstain from the inevitable. Granted, he had valid enough reasons for staying within the boundaries of his court. He needed to stay close, to ensure that they flourished before he took off on his own.
A part of him also worried that he wouldn’t be able to go back to them. He had been holding his breath for months, walking on thin ice as he tried to gather the resources that Delumine had to his advantage. It was both terrifying and exhilarating for him to let go of his responsibilities as Sovereign. He was confident enough in those that he’d left in charge. Ipomoea and Somnus could handle the festival for themselves, and he would return just in time for it to wrap up -- before he would need to go away again, this time on a journey to visit the other courts. It was well past time for introductions to be had. He had only met the King of Night thus far, but he knew of trouble brewing and he wanted to try to head it off -- quickly.
Kasil turned away from the entry of the cave, his stride purposeful -- though humble as he sought the altar of his God. He could have walked this path blind, for the many times he had been brought here as a child. In his mind’s eye, he could see his grandfather Ivanskir leading the way, the boy-child known as Kasil lingering fearfully at his heels. He had once been scared of the dark as a colt, and the flames of the torches had not been bright enough for the child of Dawn. Others were around him, his senses telling him so -- whether it was through the flick of his ears, or the drawing of his breath. He was not alone, which was fine. He had no need for a special audience with the altars of worship.
His gaze passed over the altar of Caligo, the bringer of darkness -- her altar laden with gifts of gold and black roses. Vespera was next, her altar alight with candles and the offerings of herbs from her followers. Solis’ altar was draped in war silks, a cluster of arrows barely visible save for the glints of light. And then there was Oriens, his altar far more bare than Kasil was expecting. Perhaps it was time to lead the people on a pilgrimage of their own, lest they forget who it was that they serves. Kasil smoothed the small flare of annoyance he felt, consoling himself with the fact that it was hard to make an offering of goods to a god who valued knowledge and justice over all. Those were not tangible gifts to give.
Still, the king drew near to the altar of his God, drawing a small book of writings -- bound by leather. The winged stallion lowered his head, sending a silent prayer before looking up again -- laying the small book at the feet of the altar. All of the months of preparation...he had still been writing and seeking the guidance of Oriens. Hopefully, that offering or problems...hopes...dreams...desires...it would be enough for now. He had not signed the thing, instead keeping it as vague and non-directional as he would have any scrap of writing that would leave his hand. He didn’t need such a thing falling into the hands of his enemies, that was certain.
With another bow of his head, the King departed. His mission had been simple and now it was complete. He just hoped it would not take him so long to return to this place, a sense of peace falling over him like a heavy blanket.
Kasil enters and exits in this post.
THIS THREAD IS NOT OPEN FOR OTHERS.
720 Words
Battle Type: Battle Prize: Bragging rights and exp Contact Made: yes!
Character #1:Asterion Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NA
Character #2:Florentine Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NO
Asterion
in sunshine and in shadow*
This isn’t how he was supposed to learn.
It had been Calliope who was supposed to teach him to be a warrior. His lion-heart had promised - had bid him find her, when he was ready - and he had put it off and put it off until the rift had swallowed them all.
He tries not to wonder if he will ever see the dark unicorn again; he tries not to think of what she’d say to him, to see him standing here like this. Asterion fails in both.
But Novus has given as much as the rift has taken, and today – a bright, cold morning, the ground hard and the sunlight slanting down and his breath silver in the air before it vanishes – today he will spar with Florentine.
She is not yet here, and he paws the ground with a dark hoof, huffing a breath like a dragon’s in anticipation. He is not bothered by the cold; his nerves are alight, itching under his skin, making him jumpy and round-eyed with nerves. Will he be hurt? Will he be able to strike her? She is not his feral, sorrowful golden twin, nor the dark and fearsome unicorn. She is…she is honey and flowers and laughter. She is unknown to him, too new, and he does not know what to make of her, especially after the festival, the terrible meeting with Aislinn.
The memory of it makes his heart pang, and just as he thinks that perhaps he can fight her, hooves and teeth and body, she appears.
”Are you ready?” he calls to her – but he should have been asking the question of himself, because he does not know the name of the emotion that is roiling within him.
It is his first-ever fight, and Asterion begins it by hesitating.
Summary: Asterion thinks about silly things and sees Florentine. He calls to her but does not begin a move
She had woken at the oasis, but she had not been content to stay simply because it had been the first place she had ended up in here. Pale could not tell where 'here' was, but she knew that it was different from the place she had been previously, and she was no longer wandering in areas devoid of other equine. They were all over, the scent of those that moved here and there around these areas that looked both different and the same from what her memories held. Pale was aware that she had never been here before, but that doesn't concern her. Nothing wrong with new places, and as she had been seeking somewhere to finally settle down in, this one could work just as well as any other.
The last place with droves of equine had been a failure in Pale's eyes, and the bitter sting of that was not forgotten, but she had learned from her choices and would take that with her as she continued. She prowled for the shaded areas as she moved along, sensitive eyes kept out of direct sunlight that reflected it and clouded her vision. The difference of it was seen in her pale moss green pupils; a birth defect that had been caused by the spreading infection of Rift, but healed eventually aside from the discoloration and light sensitivity. Pale was lucky that was all her eyes had suffered from it, all she had suffered from it. She had gotten used to the minor issues of it, and lingered in the shadowed areas when she could.
Above all else, however, Pale was drawn to sources of water. There would be one that she would eventually stay close to in an all too protective sort of way. Kelpie instinct, even if all the physical aspects of what she had been were leeched away. Her mindset wouldn't change with it, not unless it helped with her continued survival. That above all else was Pale's priority. Yet she also had other priorities to keep in mind, and so she would. For now, her mindset was on locating all the sources of water in these lands to map out in her head to figure out what best suited her lifestyle. It might take her some time to travel as much as she must to find them all; barring the ocean, since she did not count that in her search. It was too large an expanse for her interests.
Which was why she eventually found herself at Rapax River, picking her way along the precarious banks. She was well versed in how dangerous it could be, since she spent more time around water than anywhere else within her lifetime. And while she was not all that old, she had wandered a good deal during the short years she had been alive; and those wanderings were often around bodies of water. She could judge the stability of most places she walked around water, on rocks, the soft soil under her cloven hooves. Better suited for the rocks and ledges, those. And her tail helped with balance when and where it was needed; and a rudder when swimming. But Pale wasn't swimming now, but simply nosing around the riverbank.
-- I WOULDN'T HOLD MY BREATH IF I WERE YOU p a l e
The air was cold, the heat of summer no longer lingered within the night as the women strolled down the cobbled street. The dimly lit area was rather peaceful this fine autumn night. It was just past twilight, and the stars were hidden from view outside the windows of the keep. Yet despite the glooming darkness outside, the gentle sound of rain was a relaxing sound to her ears. Coming to a halt near a window Sunkissed stepped closer to the glass and peeked out. Pink eyes half closed as she watched the rain fall from the heavens. It was almost like a lullaby to the young mare, but she kept herself awake with a quick shake of her head. The girl was bored with nothing really to do. As she wandered the keep she had hoped to cross path with someone, anyone really. A little chat would have been nice, but it seemed all was quiet. Perhaps she was just moving in a circle from everyone, night after all was the time when the Court seemed to come alive. Taking a deep breath she let it out in a long drawn out sigh. “Such a boring night.” Sun said in a soft voice as she leaned against the window while looking out it.
