Despite the season, the beach always seemed so blissful, so sunny, so alive. Terminus was a home to many, even though Novus had yet to see their lands graced by those with fins. But did that ever stop anyone?
Truth be told, Terminus was beautiful and tragic all in the same moment. The sea, unforgiving in all its ways, swallowed the beach whole every high tide. The foam licked the sharp, jagged rocks; the current drug creatures out to sea - or worse, against those very rocks. But low tide brought a change, like another face to a beautiful woman with a terrible personality.
The beach was not unlike knowledge. Just when you thought you knew it all, had it all.. it could be ripped out from underneath you without a trace of anything that came before it. Knowledge sometimes begets violence.. and the Terminus sea was beautiful in its anger.
But in its beauty, it was easy to forget. Easy to be swallowed whole, to be so taken by the way the water moved and flowed so in tune with everything else.
It was part of the reason why Oriens loved the sea itself so much. How he longed to be able to walk the beach itself, to touch the ragged face of Praistigia again.. but Tempus himself forbid it.
And so he was left, watching from above, all but unknown to the inhabitants. Wasn't that silly? That the god that embodied knowledge and learning be forgotten by the very people he sought to take care of?
On some days, he heard Novus calling to him; louder and more insistent than the days before. He would never directly go against his Father and interact with the mortals under his care.
But nothing stopped him from leaving little gifts.
- - -
Oriens had watched Pan, in all his youthful cheer and zeal. It warmed his soul, to find someone so pure and so curious. But Oriens' heart ached. Without the gods - without Oriens himself - would this world taint Pan? Would it lead him down the wrong path?
He knew the boy loved the beach, and knew he collected many trinkets. His heart yearned to bestow a gift that might help Pan in his trek through life... but for fear of Tempus' wrath, Oriens himself knew that his gift could not be so obvious.. but still, he hoped. And on one of the rocks, he placed a shell unlike anything those of Novus had ever seen. The life of the creature that inhabited it - a species Oriens knew as Angaria Sphaerula - was brief and tumultuous, but the fruits of its efforts were truly spectacular.
Oriens could only hope that Pan would wander along the beach like he had so many other days, and discover this gift from a giver he would never know.
- - - - - -
When, and if, Pan explores along the beach, he will happen upon a small, muted pink shell no more than 2 inches across. A rare find, indeed! But upon touching it, the sensation it produces will be even more extraordinary that its looks. It will almost feel like a static shock, ringing every nerve from Pan's nose to his hooves.. and will produce a light thrumming feeling in his chest. Is it pain, some other unknown feeling, or...
wait? Why does Pan feel so alive?
If @Pan wanders along the Terminus beach in low-tide, he will discover upon a shell from the Angaria sphaerula sea snail, laying innocuously atop a rock. Should he touch it, he will feel a static shock, every nerve in his body alight. You may have Pan realize that this gift bestowed immortality on him - immediately, at a later time, or you may choose it so that he never actually becomes aware of his immortality.
The shell itself has no magical properties any longer, and Pan has no sure-fire way of knowing that this gift is from the gods, let alone Oriens. The shell may be given away or discarded at any point, and will have no affect on Pan's immortality. Giving the shell to another character will not grant them immortality, either.
Thread requirements: 1 reply, 500 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, Pan's immortality will become effective.
If you wish to have Pan begin aging again: contact staff. If he becomes mortal again, you won't be able to re-instate his immortality without purchasing it again through the Agora.
He had been validated, knighted a warrior of Dusk, and he wore that mantle with a sense of pride. He was merely one of several, of course, but still he felt as if he had firmly, truly, set his foot down upon the path of his destiny. All things began with a small step, after all. Another young warrior, Damascus, had requested a spar with him, and so Arluin had agreed eagerly. It would do him good to gradually test out the competition, to test those he would call his brothers-in-arms, to assure himself and them that when the world became grim and they fought side-by-side, the bonds of brotherhood would not fail.
He and Damascus took separate paths, and Arluin was not against it. There would be time to travel back together after the spar, this time apart would be essential for the grey to orientate himself, to settle into the familiar mentality of a warrior before the fight. He took a longer route, across the Elutheria Plain on his way to the Steppe, knowing full well it could perhaps make him a bit late... ah, but no matter. Perhaps it would psych Damascus out.
The thought made him chuckle, a low sound as he strolled across the seemingly endless sea of grass, feeling it tickle his underbelly as he passed. His blue gaze roamed over the verdant fields, idle in his thoughts until a form standing in the distance drew his gaze. It wasn't just because the figure was the only other thing to break the monotony of the field, but because the way they stood just seemed... dark, as if the vast sky above weighed on their shoulders. He angled his stride, moving with intent towards the other, catching the scent of mare and baked earth on the breeze. She was pale, sandy tones mingling with earthier ones, and to his inner relief she bore on her brow a horn of pale blue. Another unicorn, at last. He had almost thought his ilk didn't roam this land. "Hail!" His baritone rolled out in greeting, his elegant neck arching in a bow as he came to a halt alongside her, blue eyes quiet but gentle. "I am glad to see another soul, I thought I'd be stuck wandering this endless moor alone forever."
His ears pricked, head tilting in curiosity as he took in her haggard appearance. She indeed looked as if the world was borne on her withers, the weight of sorrow beneath her eyes. It pulled at him, a tightening in his chest, and his own expression softened, though not in pity. "Perhaps we shall walk together and talk, if the fair lady doesn't mind the company of a nosy youth, of course." He gave her a small smile, a silent, invisible hand held out for her to take if she needed it. It did not matter he knew nothing about her, it was his duty to lend an ear if she so needed it, or to simply be pleasant company, just a pretty face, or even to leave her once again in solitude entirely.
Fate whispers to the warrior, 'You can not withstand the storm.' The warrior whispers back, 'I am the storm.'
It was a brisk autumn afternoon, the light falling fast to evening, and Asterion is missing the sea.
He hadn’t thought he would. The twilight bay had spent a good part of his life trying to divest himself of his ties to the ocean; he’d grown up along a quiet shore racing sea-foam on the sand, dreaming of bigger, wilder things. Now he missed those ties, missed the things that grounded him and made him belong. His heart had always cried excelsior! and so he was a pilgrim, always alone.
Here, though…here, he could already feel others like roots, twined around his heart. It is too much, even if it is good, and so the boy breaks away for the coast.
The winding path to the cliffs reminds him of Novus – a little wild, a little lonely, filled in with the low sound of the wind and the high, thin crying of the gulls. It feels good to work up a sweat with the day this cool, feels good to tire his muscles and give his mind a chance to wander over all the…discoveries. It’s difficult to believe it’s only been a week since he arrived here; so much has happened.
Asterion is neither surprised nor particularly sorry to find he is not alone in his walk to the sea. At first, he thinks the gold-and-cream is Florentine, but it becomes very clear very quickly that he is wrong. The bay hesitates for only a moment, salt-tinged breeze tugging at his dark hair, before continuing on. He makes no effort to disguise the sound of his hooves on the path, but it’s hard to say what there is to hear above the distant crash of the ocean, the whine of the wind.
“Hello,” he calls, the word as much question as greeting. His smile is soft on his dark lips, but there’s no worry in his eyes. This does not seem like the kind of place bad things happen; if there is magic here, it is not the unpredictable, feral kind he knows. “How’s the view?”
As he approaches her, he does not consider that it is man, as much as magic, that must be treated cautiously.
All dreams began with a single step, and his was to begin making a name for himself in this new land. So with but a few simple, polite queries to a group of passing equines he had found himself turned in the direction of the Dusk Court, their dire need for warriors not necessarily something unknown to the populace. It was perfection for him, fertile soil for the seed of his ambition to take root, and he lusted for it to sprout like a dying man to thirst. Even with Dusk Court's low warrior count, he knew what he desired wouldn't be achieved so easily, but still he moved with eager, rolling steps across the earth, until the citadel loomed in the distance, a spire of beautiful grey stone surrounded by rolling green fields. It was picturesque, and yet another sign within his mind that he had chosen the right place. Oh, it held nothing in comparison to the valley of his youth, to the cave his family had dwelt within, that was glossed with a layer of childhood nostalgia and nothing would ever come close to it. But this keep... this Court(from appearances), it felt like a right fit.
Grass soon gave way to stone beneath his hooves as he traversed into the keep, reassuring the guards of his intentions and asking the way to their Sovereign. He bowed his head in thanks when they directed him to the inner keep, beginning to make his way through the halls. With each step the pale stallion found himself feeling more at home, more resolute in his dream to the point where he could almost hear and see it before him. Would he remain the Knight of Roses, or would he grow into something more, a white phoenix to ascend into the annals of history?
His dark-stained lips curled in a smile of quiet amusement, grey locks falling over his crisp features as he turned his head to gaze out a window, pausing his stride to marvel at the sight beyond. Rolling hills of green, kissed by the remains of the early morning mist, a moor of promise and possibility that sang to him. Yes, he was in the right place. With his gentle smile gracing his lips and his blue eyes set with determination, the young warrior swung his head back around and made to continue his walk... and slammed right into another, warm body. It knocked the breath from his lungs, and he swiftly took a few steps behind him, tension roiling through him, muscles contracting as he arched his neck, ruby horn leveled... before he forced himself to relax, breathing out a soft sigh when the surprise and shock began to fade. "My deepest apologies, lady, I should truly look before I walk." He gave the mare an impish smile, ducking his head in embarassment. "I fear I can't stay and chat, i've some business to attend to... pray, do you know where the Sovereign is as of the moment?" He was eager to carry on with his dream, his ambition. It was so close now.... closer than he knew.
The fare maiden's name has whistled form his lips as he left the court, wings spread and headed in no other direction but towards the serenity that the Oasis might provide. Maxence had considered Seraphina's propositions and advice and so would set out to question Bexley and set her and the commoners with a task; and a very important one at that.
Solidifying their relationship with Dusk was a plan Day would guard safety. It was not to be trifled with, or their small faction would surely falter - the loss of such an alliance would delay progress, specifically in living conditions and health. For these reasons Maxence had sought out Bexley, hoping she was either at the court or already at the oasis in order to present her with a diplomatic mission.
Parties and fanfare were certainly not the lion's expertise, so of course he had sought out the help of someone he assumed was greatly versed in it. A gathering here at the oasis while autumn was still young and the hot weather was still mild was a gentle, friendly way to initiate peace between two courts. A feast of sorts.
He had taken his place beside the scavenged bones of the teryr, it's monolithic skeleton still grounded upon the tallest ledge in the canyon. Maxence waited, watched and stirred upon that same ledge, pondering exactly what he ought to say to the Champion of Wisdom.
So she wished to build a temple. Why? So she and she alone could have a roof over her head while she worshipped? Maxence could think of no reason (that he liked) for such an extensive project and there was not a soul in Solterra who worshiped Solis as devotedly as Inkheart. In fact, the woman's blind and treaherous faith was likely what stained the entire proposition. How did he know that this was not just a deluded infatuation funding her wishes? Maxence nor any other that he knew of subscribed to such devotion.
It was for this reason that he had called her to the canyons to speak and hear her pledge. What good reasons did she have besides her infatuation with a god she'd never met?
Posted by: Liesel - 10-12-2017, 10:04 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
LIESEL
The rosy touch of dawn was just starting to tinge the sky as Liesel left the Dawn Court, her silvery skin gleaming in the early morning light. Her silver locks, usually loose, were tucked into neat, efficient braids that pulled the hair away from her elegant face, revealing her razor boned jawline. The cleanness of her was revealed that way, the neatness of her bones and the pureness of her soft skin. It made her look younger, especially when she lowered her ivory lashes.
Even so early in the morning the rustle of paper could be heard, the scholars of Dawn rarely pausing their work for nuisances like dawn or dusk. Liesel made quick work of the travel, moving with a fluid grace she had inherited from her sire. She could remember him - barely. At least a vision of blue and a sensual voice, filled with arrogance and elegance, but beautiful. His name lingered upon her tongue, touched the back of her mind with a familiar, insistent push - and yet... it did not come, his face faded and Liesel was left frustrated and memoryless.
Though she had intended it, the summer girl found herself surprised when she reached the cliffside of the Terminus. It was not the most pleasant of oceans - certainly not as pristine as... as the one she saw in her dreams. Despite it's differences though, the shifting scent of the Terminus calmed her, spoke to her. Salt and sand. It was one of the strongest things she could remember before awaking upon the Wave Breaker.
Her dainty chest rose as she filled it with the salt and seaweed smell, watching the rising sun over the choppy horizon, her amber eyes filling with the brilliant sight. A gentle breeze wound it's way through her soft silver hair, touching the base of her neck coolly. Memories were so close, like shadows pressing against the edge of her vision - but all she could see was this ocean, these lands. Despite that, despite yearning with every inch of her lithe body to remember, Liesel could not say she was unhappy with her present situation. The sun lifted ever higher as it awoke the world and emblazoned the summer girl, embracing her as she breathed and wondered.
How he had managed to slip into the court of night unapprehended was beyond him, in fact, he wondered if there was but a single warrior to protect the citizens; the cover of night was all he had needed to slip past the sleepy buildings and perhaps even Calligos watchful eyes. The lion inspected the walls and the cobblestone, admiring the vegetation that made their home upon the window panes and thrived over the stone. No such thing could be seen in Solterra where the sand choked every living thing. The slightest ounce of jealousy rumbled within as Maxence slipped along the walls, pacing quietly until he reached the vast door of their cathedral-like structure.
First he observed the sleepy building and all the lights within, primarily wondering which window might belong to the chamber of the king. moments later he began his summons, not caring that it was long past midnight and that the stars were all they had left for company.
"Reichenbach!" Day bellowed to Night, though he had little to no expectation that Yin would recognise Yang. "I await" was his second boom, this time slipping form his lips only as he turned upon his haunches and pressed on back the way he cam,e hoping that the echoes of his footsteps upon the cobblestones would be enough to allert the soverign in where the commander was headed.
Maxence would not allow himself to be surrounded by a whole court of enemies. He was one among twenty, perhaps thirty potential enemies, so it was with nought but wit that he trailed back out of the court walls to the nearby meadow where he stood in wait, facing the vast nightscape to the north where home lay.
IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER, AND A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
AND HE CARRIES THE REMINDER OF EVERY GLOVE THAT LAID HIM DOWN
AND CUT HIM TIL' HE CRIED OUT
Wolves howled lower than the wind that whistled into the commanders ears and from his place upon the frigid mountaintop there was little to be seen among the falling sleet and whispering white clouds that covering most of his horizon, save for the drenched mountain forest below. In the Arma's the king of Day stood surveying a land of Night; a rival land, his motives for such a plunge still questionable. What had driven him into the clutches of the enemy? Was is sympathy for the emotional king of Denocte, or was it an emerging gentleman's agreement?
Maxence was always one to command all he surveyed, but alas, not in the country where Calligo reigned. It was here amongst the pine needles, pete and mountain sleet that he felt more a stranger than any; even the eagles watching him from eye level appeared right at home, and while the lion was not one to quake as the sight of crows he would certainly keep his sights upon them.
The coast appeared clear, so with was with a flick of his wings that the commander spilled from the mountaintop and swooped down it's side toward the forest below, soon to land in a sheltered glade; there'd be ltitle to no chance of spotting him under the cover of the trees, where as if he was caught flying into the night court he would he could likely be shot down like a duck.
Gathering his wings against his sides and finding his baring with a turn of his nose across his back and then ahead in the direction of the court, maxence began on his way.
Battle Type: BATTLE. Prize: BRAGGING RIGHTS, EXP, AND ONE VITAL PIECE OF COURT INFORMATION PER THE REQUEST OF THE WINNER. Contact Made: YEPP.
Character #1:aislinn Bonded: --- Magic: --- Armor: --- Weapons: ---
Character #2:velorca Bonded: --- Magic: --- Armor: --- Weapons: ---
AISLINN
SHE TASTES LIKE MOONBEAMS AND LAVENDER
Autumn's gold-dusted fingers touched every nook and cranny and crevice, burnishing the land with amber and burnt umber and fiery crimson. Calligo's shadows had grown long and lazy and beautifully dark as the days had become shorter and shorter, the promise of winter on their horizon. With each passing day, her Goddess conquered their skies for longer periods of time — her shadows and smoke and glimmering stars most welcome. Her passion and fierceness a divine pillar for the gypsy warrior who had called Her Court home.
The shift of autumn did not quell her thirst for thunderstorms and chaos. In fact, nothing could keep her away from the threat of rain and crackling lightning that pierced across the sky in sheer swords of ivory. Night had once more graced her skies, but instead of an endless expanse of ebony black and opalescent stars, she was met with a painted sky of indigo and cobalt and flashes of white light; much like the colors of storms brushing her seal bay skin and the moonlight silk of her mane and wings. For the sweet bliss of sleep could not claim their storm daughter on this night — the lullaby of gathering discord in the shape of violet billows and the call of bloodied knuckles too much a vixen for her to ignore.
Not that she had wanted to pretend the storm and the Steppe did not flirt with her in raw, scarlet temptations.
So she had vanished from her tower, unlike any princess, but instead a warrior honed and bred for the battlefield. Her great wings aching for the taste of chilled night air upon each feathered plume, the threat of cold rain like a drug that had the blood in her veins singing. Without hesitation, the stormsinger had taken flight; bursting through the wide open expanse of her windows and soaring beneath the low-hanging clouds across the angry sea. She spiraled, down down down, until she touched down on the bloodstained earth that was the Bellum Steppe. Her plateau, her training ground, her release, her need for war; bound and flattened into an expanse of land that had tasted blood, sweat, and tears.
A thin layer of sweat glistened along her shadowed coat as a shock of lightning shattered across the sky. So much in her element, the stormsinger stood proudly, defiantly, with her gaze of blue scanning the mist and shadow along the tree line. She, the embodiment of hurricanes and stardust, who dared challenge any who take her silent offer, despite knowing how her last encounter had fared. Her emotions had been wrecked; the carefully plaited armor she had created broken and useless against the ache of her once-bleeding heart.
She did not come to make the same mistake a second time.
Licking her lips slowly, deliberately, she stood still. A statue of ink and stone, unafraid of the storm as much as the storm was unafraid of her. With a slow, collective breath, the sky began to open up; rain falling in slow patters, then quickly massing into sheets of liquid steel. Every drop along her skin sent shards of glass in her veins, and shivers of ice dancing down her spine. But she did not falter; until at long last, her nostrils flared with the heavy, sickening musk of desert sands. In the shadows, she saw him — only a glance of quick silver and gold — but it was enough. His stench of scorched earth and flames was a rot that she could not forget, not when she had been face to face with their sun King's warden not long ago.
"You seem to be out of place here, Solterran." A coy, near arrogant smile tugged at one side of her supple lips, her gaze bright and as sharp as daggers of blue fire. Accusing. Taunting. She huffed air through her nostrils as her gaze narrowed through thick lashes, baiting the sand viper to come out and play where the earth had begun to softened under rain. A raspy chuckle rumbled deep in her throat as another burst of lightning illuminated her from her backside; brightening the edges around her and darkening the front side of her frame with smoke and shadows. "What say you? Your god is fast asleep."
@velorca let's do this thanggg
Pffft this thread name was 1000% inspired by sailor jupiter from sailor moon and I have no shame. No shame.
Summary: Ash — storm addict she is, gosh — goes to the Steppe to kick some booty when she sees Lorca and *ding ding ding* You have been challenged by Trainer Roo!