I STAY EMPTY, I FEEL THE HUNGER so simple when I was younger--
Seraphina followed the footsteps of the ink-coated stranger in a silence that seemed to extend into her thoughts. She felt that she should have thought something as she followed him, but her mind was left empty as she stumbled in her mechanical pursuit; she was surrounded by gaping, uncomfortable quiet, save the soft whisper of growing wind. The throbbing in her leg had soon become so anticipated that she didn’t feel it at all, and the blood from the gashes on her chest had slowed to a gooey trickle – it was caked on her skin in a layer of dark, gelatinous pus, but she barely noticed it. Her mouth still tasted like copper, and, whenever she breathed, she sucked in the tangy, sticky scent of blood. It didn’t bother the warrior woman, though. She had dragged herself back to Solterra in far worse condition than this in the past, and she could certainly do it again.
Homecoming was not her present objective, however.
It might have seemed strange to be following behind the stallion that had caused her those wounds to begin with, but Seraphina had seen enough of him to gauge his skill, and Solterra was always on the hunt for capable warriors. During their battle, she hadn’t noticed the scent of any of the other courts on him, so she thought that he might be a loner. If he was, she had every intention of offering him a home in Solterra. Although there seemed to be a darkness gnawing at him, a cold rage that put her own indistinct apathy to shame, it was secondary to his skills, and Solis only knew that most of the Solterrans were damaged goods.
(And he’d spared her. He could have easily left her maimed, and, for a fraction of a second, she’d thought he might, but he hadn’t.)
The tall grasses of the Eleutheria Plains had risen to brush against her legs before she caught up with him again. The brilliant sunlight that had beat down upon her shoulders during their battle had fallen prey to a swarm of murky grey clouds, and she could smell the promise of rain – a foreign, earthy freshness to the desert mare – on the wind. Now it existed only in subdued beams of light that found their way through little cracks in the cloud cover; they left patches of the desaturated tawny sea illuminated in pure, pale gold. Autumn chill had crept in with the breeze, and Seraphina wasn’t sure if she minded it or not; there was a near-imperceptible tremble to her silver skin, but it could just have easily been the result of her injuries as the cold. Her mane, long tugged free of its braids, trailed behind her in ghostly tangles.
She trailed her eyes along the antlered stallion thoughtfully, though she kept her distance from him – she wasn’t sure if he’d noticed her, or if he had realized that he was being followed. (Somehow, she imagined that he had. He seemed clever.) Raising her voice to be audible over the wind, Seraphina offered, “You’re quite skilled.” Her words were genuine, but, in the mare's cool, throaty tones, words slurred softly with her desert drawl, they sounded like less of a compliment and more of an observation.
With that, she waited; she would have more to say once she had a chance to gauge his reaction.
She walked in a twilight tunnel of malachite and emerald. A strong breeze carrying a hint of the dead and dying blew into her face and around her the leaves rustled dryly though they had been verdant when she lay down to rest. Now she walked, a jaunty bounce in her step and a wicked gleam in one white iris'd eye. The foliage around her faded to gold and scarlet and brown, a riot of fall's best colors. Ahead she could hear rushing water and the soil beneath her hooves was soft loam rich with decay that would nourish new growth after winter's rest. She broke free of the trees and had to quint into the brilliant sun as it crested the horizon, painting the sky in fading blues and lavenders, edging clouds with gilt.
There, silhouetted against the sky, was the castle robed in ivy. It had haunted her dreams for years now. The roar of the nearby river was familiar, like an old friend. Lucky she was that she knew the difference between dream and reality. In no dream was the air so crisp and the ground so solid underfoot. Let others have their dreams- she would take reality with all it's highs and lows. Let her bones ache- every year she'd lived was worth the weight it put on her shoulders.
The mare drops her sturdy head for a moment, brushing her face gently against the inside of her leg. The sensitive skin feels the slightly crusty layer of paint that colors the hairs on her face in vibrant sunset hues like that of the king bird who guides her. He isn't here today, in the tree behind her left shoulder. That too tells her that this is no dream. Her broad, charcoal dipped wings fan out as much as the trees will allow and then snap tight to her muscular barrel.
Tlilopotonqui is not one to wait to be invited in. The gods had led her here and on that authority she moved into a ground eating trot. Her mane and tail fluttered in the autumn wind like tattered banners, signaling no truce but peace none the less. The ceramic pots on their string rattle gently against each other and her shoulder- she moves in the open, with no attempt at stealth. She is not trying to take the Court by surprise.
After all, if she intends to be here a while it is better not to appear as a sneak in the night. Instead she moves across the field towards the keep in a shaft of early morning sunlight that creeps between the towers and rooftops to light her path.
At heart, the mighty beast seemed to wander, here and there, far from lands, but he always seemed to drift back like some sort of leaf on the wind. Or perhaps a turtle returning to the beach they had been born on. In this case, he was merely a large horse wandering back to lands that he could call home in some shape or form, wearing new scars as ever. The one on his back now seemed to be the most prominent, where the great winged beast had laid him open. It was a nice trophy.
Still, now his massive hooves clipped and clopped on the hard flooring of the Court, the old blacksmith looking a little more up to date, and he eyed it, as if wanting to step inside the old structure to bring life in to it. A warrior at heart, and Champion of Battle, wouldn't it be fitting if he were to become a blacksmith? It would keep him from wandering, certainly.
Perhaps it was something to bring up to Maxence when he got the chance.
Regardless, he slipped away, standing near a wall and exhaling before shaking his great body, sending his mane and tail everywhere until his head lifted up and he released a rumbling hum from somewhere deep in his chest. It was good to be home, though here it was more barren, he could hear others deeper in the Court, away from the yard that was to be spruced up more.
The click of hooves alerted him though, and he turned himself curiously, only to find a gleam in that ruby eye of his as he grinned, scarred muzzle lifting somewhat as he looked forward. "Well well well, Eden," he rumbled, easily stepping forward with a lazy lope to his feathered legs, and he leaned in.
There was a bump of his muzzle to her neck, a very... affectionate gesture coming from the giant. A rare one too, at that.
Camdis knew he would not be able to describe the fear that had plagued his every step since awakening within the oppressive darkness of the library archives. It was as if the shadows had come alive and were grasping at his throat, seeking to strangle the life from his veins. Though he did not know how long he had been unconscious upon the floor of the crypt-like archives, the stallion could feel the time that had passed in the stiffness of his joints, in the absence of fat and muscle - in the hollowness of his eyes.
He moved as if he were being hunted; caution and weariness etched into every breath. His breath billowed out before him in twin plumes of steam as he made his way across the stone floors and through the arched exit of the vast underground library. In the small antechamber that preceded the great archive chamber, Camdis Lohir noted the cobwebs that stretched across the fireplace where, when he had passed last, a blaze had been crackling merrily. Another blade of fear pierced the male's heart.
How long have I been unconscious?
Camdis tried to swallow but found that his mouth had gone dry as panic began to set in, silvery eyes widening until the whites flashed. "Reichenbach - Reich," came his gravelly words, voice nearly unrecognizable from disuse. Rushing forward, the Hand of the King moved as quickly as his weakened limbs allowed, his breath soon becoming labored beneath the weight of moving his malnourished frame. Where was his Sovereign? Where was his friend was he okay? What had happened?
Jolting to a stop within the hallway leading to Reichenbach's private chambers, Camdis's horned head hanging low as he gasped for air, a serpentine voice wound it's way through his mind, the feminine lilt haunting him and causing his muscles to clench painfully with terror.
Dark like the void...
Had it been her again? The figure? The maybe-Calligo? Tears pricked his eyes, threatening to spill in horrified rivulets down scarlet and chocolate stained cheeks. Clenching his jaw and taking a timid step forward Camdis struggled closer to the beautiful ebony doors of Reichenbach's apartment, his voice failing him even as he collapsed in a pitiful heap in front of the entrance. "Reii.."
His vision began to blur, whether from tears, adrenaline, or starvation, he couldn't tell. Where was Raglan? Where was his page? Where was Rostislav? Where were his friends?
Why was he alone?
"Help... Please."
@Reichenbach HEY YALL I'M BACK!!!! I'm thinking that Camdis got pulled into another ~~vision~~ but he doesn't remember it and he's been unconscious for weeks! AA ye? anyways, EVERYONE is welcome. I would love for someone to find the second in command collapsed on the floor looking all malnourished and half dead. I can't tell you how much I've missed all of you!
Posted by: Maxence - 10-19-2017, 10:26 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
"
S
olis" the thunder spoke, blue eyes of an ocean clenched to a close upon the mount. "Send your land your blessing so that in the coming winter we will receive an abundance of rain for our crops, food for our warriors, nourishment for your people"
His plea was a timid whisper, fearful of the might and wrath of the holy one he prayed to. The lord of light was one who could make things happen, could he not? Solis could give and take away, but while Maxence still was skeptical he felt great fear in the prospect in disrepecting a diety. And so he watched, waited, whispered and murmured to the one his people loved and gave their devotion to, the one who they might build a temple in the name of so they might not have to cross the Mors just to give thanks.
"Bless me with your wisdom so that those who tresspass against you are brought to justice."
Of course Maxence only had one nameless crow in mind when he uttered these breathy words, cold eyes opening in snakeish slits as he looked to the sacrifice of Teryr skin he had laid upon the summit. There was a snake in the grass, a dagger in the corn, and that one crow who stole their rations and drank their limited water would hang for his larceny. While grass and water flowed and grew freely in Denocte, a land of honey and milk, there was one cheeky bastard soaking in the sun stealing poor mans coin.
"Show me a sign!" the commander bellowed to the heavens, his wings flaring as impatience and anger grasped a hold of his flaming heart. The family he strove only to protect and provide for was infiltrated, and there he stood on the mountain watching his flock of sheep not knowing which was a wolf in disguise. "While those bats in the south wail and sook about the kidnapping of that stupid drunk, pretending to be so hurt and struck that we would do such a thing without cause when all this time they had their claws in us!"
Taking his gaze from the hills to his rear and the rocks towering to each side, Maxence soon found his gaze blinded by the sun once more. Blinking them shut and cowering his gaze away from the monumental pillar of light the soveregn dropped his head, submitting to the lord above. "Give us strength, Solis"
Instead of worshipping Maxence had seemingly asked Solis for blessings and then ranted to the heavens as if they had time to listen to the problems of mortals, but it caused a great stir in the sovereign; a flame that would not be extinguished. Perhaps that was what he had come to the mountain for. The fire was lit, the knives were out. Was it Solis's presence that had gifted the commander with his newfound indomitable spirit, the kind all Solterran Kings ought to possess?
There was work to be done.
Like a bloodhound on a scent he would trail the imposter until he was between his teeth.
she walked in moondust
and stars were sprinkled in her hair
Her gypsy, wandering heart nearly danced out of her chest when she had heard of a festival. A feast, a celebration in the nook of a kingdom she had not yet traveled; in a place that was still blissfully unexplored. Her nomad, Rahilah soul glowed warmly at the very thought. The delectable, unspoken invitation to the Court of the Rising Sun teeming. Wondrously accepted by the stormsinger whom called the beautiful darkness of Night home. She had just returned from the outer reaches of her homeland when she heard the whisperings through the capitol city; that Dawn hailed a harvest festival, to beseech the patron god for bestowing his gifts upon the land for them to reap.
Aislinn's blood had sang a sweet, sweet song, and at once, her wings craved the chilled air through every feathered plume. Aching for flight; to lift off and soar to an unknown land and join in the festivities. A foreign, brand new court, a land she hand not once set a delicate hoof upon their soil.. the temptation was almost too much to bear. With half a thought, she had decided; her hooves having pounded upon the stone of Calligo's city until the wind whipped at her starlit hair and autumn's cold sun dappled across her skin. She flew, straight and true, elated and high on the drug of excitement lacing through her blood and bones.
The smell of rich apples and burning pyres smoked across the expanse of sky; a cool backdrop of autumnal gray and gilded gold set against the faded blue of dusk. She spiraled once her orbs caught the sight of a gathering crowd, a smile tugging at her lips as she dove. Gracefully, her knees slightly bent, the Child of the Night landed upon soft earth with her legs cantering to absorb the shock, until at last she slowed before a large, smoldering bonfire. Cinnamon and pumpkin and liquid sugar filled the air with a sweetness and tartness that touched every nerve ending on her tongue; the wood smoke of the fires lighting the trees ablaze in their painted hues of orange and crimson. Music.. sweet, thrumming music beat against her chest as drums and pipes filled the air with song and the laughter of merriment.
Her gypsy heart danced with every beat of the drums, as her orbs of brightest blue widened with wonder and shock as she tried to absorb it all.
News of the festival within the Dawn Court had spread quickly, and given it was the Delumine that had gifted Solterra with fertile river soil for their garden it seemed quite rude to ignore an invitation.
Without any effort to répondez s'il vous plaît the Solterran party crossed the Mors during the night when it was at it's coolest and less hostile before maxing it's way across the plains and finally to the border of their host's country at the Rapax, all the while Maxence telling his entourage stories of wars won and victories stolen, and listening to their own tales of war and woe. For one who had missed the company of his brethren, it was more than therapeutic to spend time in the company of his new Solterran family.
The Day Court King arrived late in the afternoon when the sun was giving it's farewells and dusk had just begun. Immediately Maxence's mind tured to rest and rejuvination from the journey, though they had come for a reason; To meet the one sovereign who had eluded him so far. King Kasil was one Maxence had heard little about, and while rumors spoke of a man who looked identical to Reichenbach he was quite sure that friends and enemies could not easily be mixed.
Taking a gander over the foods, drinks and various festival activities, Maxence turnedh is nose toward the beautiful court buildings and the pristine fields the flower-pickers lived upon. It was at that moment that the Solterran King knew he would find it hard to play nice when he had just walked a few thousand miles from a land with hardly a single blade of grass upon it's entire surface. Did Solis choose to forsake them? or did Oriens simply choose to spoil the flower pickers? Or did the gods have no choice.
by blair of shine, translated to html by meverrnind
Posted by: Kasil - 10-19-2017, 08:19 AM - Forum: Archives
- Replies (3)
THE HARVEST FESTIVAL
It had taken days for everything to come together, and Kasil had left it all to Somnus to plan. His duties as a dignitary had called him away but that did not mean his court could not have a little fun in his absence. In fact, it was very much needed in such uncertain times. Before winter's grip took hold of Novus and more serious work would begin....
Lanterns are strung between every building, the distinct crisp of fall in the air as day's light began to fade around the court citizens. It was all very elaborate, a very different scene from the usual reserve that Dawn Court held themselves to. Barrels of sweet and savory drinks had been brought in from around the realm, at the ready to lighten everyone's spirits. Musicians from Denocte had been arranged to usher in a lively atmosphere with their music. Small games and treats are posted on the corners of the streets, making Dawn Court quite unusual looking from it's everyday appearance.
----
WELCOME TO THE HARVEST FESTIVAL!
This is a light-hearted thread meant to bring all of our lovely Dawn Court citizens (and visitors) together for one last celebration before the onset of winter. The Gods have been kind to us, and we are here to celebrate them! Please feel free to partake in ANY of the following activities!
- Dancing
- Drink
- Pumpkin Carving
- Bobbing for Apples
- Toss Games (like bean bag toss, or knocking down targets)
- Face Paintings
- Tarot Readings
Don't see something that your character would like to try? Discord @Sparrow as @Somnus is in charge of this event while Kasil is away on business!
Feel free to make a private thread set within the timespan of the festival. We ask that you notate that it is during the Harvest Festival and link back to this post!
THE HARVEST FESTIVAL SHALL LAST UNTIL NOVEMBER 15, 2017. Please have all your threads finishing up by that date so we can keep the board tidy!
When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing
And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising
The air was crisp. The sun hovered above, where the clouds blotted the sky here and there. 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… There was ample foliage, 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 ocean, 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.
The day was windy, the air chill with a hint of autumn frost. Like the kiss of a ghost it hung in the air but left no trace of it's presence. The sky was heavily overcast, robbing the world of some of it's color and yet it did not feel like a proper storm coming. Still it played on his nerves and after a few hours this morning of exploring the keep Diarmuid had ventured out doors to work off some energy. The grass in the fields was dying, still soft under hoof but no longer standing tall to brush the legs of those who traveled it. Instead it was beginning to sag beneath the weight of the coming winter, forming a mat across the ground protecting roots and seed to preserve them until spring.
Pounding hooves created an earthbound thunder as the knight charged. Reaching the end of his imaginary lane he skidded to a stop, large hooves flinging up clods of soil and dead plants as he killed his momentum and swung his large frame around. Perhaps the agility of his turn was surprising given his size but his build was not as heavy as some who carried work horse blood, more akin to a heavy warmblood. He can feel the sweat beginning to dampen his fur, but for the moment he is fresh as he barrels back across the field towards his starting point. Again he turns, skewing around and feeling the muscles in his scarred right hind protest.
He slows on his third pass to a canter, then to a trot. When he hits a walk the movement is still quick, his energy high as he tests the protesting limb, finding that the ache is fading quickly and it does not feel particularly week. The muscle is almost filled out back to some semblance of symmetry though the scars will always bite deep into the flesh.
It is now, as the warrior slows, that he realizes the fields are not as empty as when he began. He does not change his stead back and forth, instead picking up an easy trot again. The angle changes slightly though so that he can fix his good eyes on the approaching grey shape, his one good ear flicked towards him as well. There is nothing more than cursory caution in his posture though- he doesn't think that he will come to harm here so close to the Dusk Court's stronghold.
