Rhoswen wandered without purpose or design. At first she had sought to purge the troubles from her mind, harnessing the desert's scorching heat in attempt to cauterise the purpled wound that was her angst. It flared and flamed, gnawing at her bloodstream, and no matter how deep into the golden sandstrewn abyss she walked - it refused to heal. So now she took to Ruris instead, allowing her legs to trace a map unknown; following the archaic pattern of the sun as it rose, hung, and fell. Her oh-so grey eyes had turned to ash and stone where once there had been hurricanes, for she is lost again. Again - the word rolls bitterly across her tongue. Life seemed to relish in dealing the copper maiden difficult hands. Once a fallen angel in Denocte, now a mistress of deceit in Solterra. If Maxence unearthed the truth of her treachery there would be hell to pay, blood to be spilled. She knew he would come for her, and yet still she could not find it within herself to forsake Raum. For, although she was Solis' daughter through and through, there was no forgetting the origin of her birth - born not in daylight but under the magnetic cover of night. Her family were made of moondust and starfire - they knew nothing of the golden rhythm of her heart; it was a song they would never understand. A gust of summer wind tore across the sheltered creek as Rhoswen came to stand upon it's gentle banks, looking down into the heart of the river - looking, desperately, for answers.
A whisper is forgotten on the breeze: "What am I supposed to do?"
He steps onto the ground feeling more the foreigner, more the beggar and thief than the supposed citizen. He is nothing as he walks the grounds, feeling out of sorts when a guard has yet to stop him in his tracks. To be safe, Valerian is exploring the outside structure for the time being. There are too many nice things – he thinks immediately. But beyond those shallow, simple notes, he can’t fathom much more.
Instead he’s found himself facing the steep cliffs. An old familiar ache runs the length of his dark wings; to thrust off the edge, plunge, and embrace the air. To inhale the water’s brine, become the restless spirit that turns them – forget and transform into wind and feather.
The stallion presses his wings closer to his sides. His dark gaze withdrawn, as the events prior to his arrival churn in a cacophony of noise, emotions, and images that flash disjointed and nonsensical in rhythm or time, unable to settle. They dance instead on the surface of his skin, taught, tense even as the wind sends her gentle hands through his mane and chest. He must abandon the familiar perhaps, or find ways of embracing it.
Neither option appears fathomable in the least. Valerian has failed in all accounts, and far too many times – that the efforts of having done so, show through his gaze. Just enough to send the glare of light against his eyes to dull. The afternoon sun is all that appears to comfort him for the time being. Her steady presence reminds him that he is indeed alive, and the air that he’s breathing keeps his heart beating, limbs steady. Mind racing.
This place had put her into another magical coma (it’s the only way I can describe my absence…sorry!) and when she awoke, she was still here, in this land. Her button eyes were wide, rimmed with fear and uncertainty, and she called out, desperately searching for Pan and Flora. They were the only ones she knew here, and she was terrified that something had happened to them, just like it happened to…him. She was frantic, long legs churning up the terrain behind her, throwing pebbles and little dirt clods as she ran headlong through the herd’s land, calling out desperately to find her friends. Certainly they were ok…they had to be. She had already lost one friend, and she would never forgive herself for it…she couldn’t bear to lose anyone else. Her sides were heaving, dripping with sweat when she finally stopped, feeling defeated. Her head was low, trying to force as much oxygen into her lungs as possible. She raised her head up and called out again, echoing through the nearby hills and valleys, around the trees and rocks. If Pan and Flora were nearby, they would hear her, and certainly they would come. ”Pan? Flora? Where are you?” She couldn’t hide the emotion in her voice as it wavered. And so, the silver girl stood, fur glistening in the sunlight, button eyes searching desperately for her two friends, praying against all fears that she hadn’t lost anyone else. The silver girl stood tall and proud, sides still heaving, appearing every bit a child, even though she was a grown three year old. ”Speech”
Posted by: Jude - 09-08-2017, 11:53 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
Jude
Without losing a piece of me
How do I get to heaven?
Of all the schemes to concoct this has been by far one of the worst ones. Jude can feel the pang of hunger rumble in his belly and fatigue setting in to his very bones. He’s wilted, tired, and defeated after weeks spent without a proper bed or rest. Now with his cat gone he sees little reason to keep pressing onwards. Tears flow freely from his eyes and he tries to stifle them but can’t quite manage to snuff them out. As he stumbles along the rugged mountain path all he can hear is the sound of his own sniffles and sobs. Darkness starts to seep in and stars begin to dot the sky which only causes fear to set in. What if something gets hungry? A sobbing pony is an easy target for a starving predator. If he dies no one will be there to know, he will just be forgotten like vapor in the wind. All of this for the sake of infatuation and he wonders how long it’ll be before he’s dead.
Jude stumbles underneath a tree and presses his body against the bark. If he were home he would’ve already began pouring in the substance, letting smoke consume his mind and ease the perpetual state of anxiety. Instead he’s trapped underneath a twilight sky, the shades of purple and pink moving in a tantalizing dance. Any other time he might admire the sky as the stars begin to wake as the world starts to sleep.
“I’m so stupid,” Jude whispers to himself before he slowly lets his body slide downwards into a laying position, finding the scrape of the bark against his skin a bitter reminder that he is stuck. It’ll be another night spent sleeping in the dirt, another night living like a primitive beast. The absence of everything familiar and dear just makes the tears that fall from his eyes taste even more bitter.
"a second option."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
The sun shone in its last light, tilting down over the horizon and covering the world in violet, scarlet, and rose, saturated with deep, soul-warming gold. Lying on her side, letting the last of the heat drench her body as she lightly dozed, and the young herbalist was, for the first time since she’d left Helovia, at peace.
The sound of the last insects making their way home droned over her through the hazy air, and occasionally, her exposed ear flickers, dispelling one of the little critters which alighted upon it, or her wild mass of rippling, white tail flutters up to drowsily swish along her butter-cream flanks. The promise of the arriving evening was not filled with a trepidation of what awaited her in the deepening darkness, as it had been in the Rift; instead, she looked forward to rising from her nap, to look upon the myriad array of stars, that were so many that the whole sky seemed to be made of a thin black gauze, through which the very light of creation sought to break through at last.
Unsure of the moon phases, but sure enough from the night prior that it would be about half full, she’s not even worried about the dark, and quite comforted by the presence of the half orb, already making her gauzy appearance in the dusk-light. Though the girl knows, as she opens her eyes, and looks up at the heavens, that the light shining there is not her Goddess, as she has come to view the moon, part of her still feels as if she is there, regardless. Somehow, through time and space, they all still were.
Wishing she could go back in time and tell Otem this, while they had wept over their mothers and their lost home, the girl recollects, also, her promise to the girl. Suddenly roused, Maude rolls over onto her belly, her knees raised before her, and gently sets her chin atop them, to look out across the horizon.
Humming the melody aloud, she begins to rework the stanzas in her head, and watches the night slowly cloak the world of Novus.
The mother of the marsh was a small river, flowing like a blue ribbon through a tangle of trees. Maude approaches it with her ears lifted and her step eager, more delighted by the sight of a forest than she initially registers, mostly because it was easier to assume she was simply glad to be out of the marsh, and onto drier land.
Her adventures so far have left her feeling much, much better about this place, Novus, than she had about the world of the trickster God. The most terrible location she’d discovered so far was a swamp, after all, and even it hadn’t been so bad, once she’d been there a while. The sound of the frog-song and the heady mist that layered the land was peaceful, and in definite contrast to this green world surrounding the trickle of the water, filled with the noise of birds and other animals. She’d also found Finnian, who’d scared her at first, but had wound up being pretty nice.
The maiden lowers her muzzle to drink from the cool water flowing by her hooves, delighted at how clean it is.
Perhaps it is more of a creek, or a stream, she thinks to herself, recalling what she knew of bodies of water. It wasn’t very wide or deep, after all, and even here, where the water was moving quickly, and causing white to crest atop its rushing length, she could see straight down to the water smoothed stones below. Feeling an odd urge to shift through the rocks lining the bed of the brook, the girl does as she usually does, when met with a compulsion: she obliges.
Humming as she shifts rocks this way and that, the girl can’t help but recall that the last time she’d done this, she’d done it with Kiada, to gather sea glass for the Moon Goddess’ temple. Just like when she’d talked about the buildings back home, the people, or the pure happiness that she had held dear to her heart there, Maude quickly finds herself overwhelmed by the emotion that floods her. Still, she’s getting much better at dealing with it; sniffling and humming along, anyway, despite the tears the slowly escape her attempts to hold them at bay, and the girl steadfastly refuses to look up from her rock gathering.
Soon, a small pile of pretty stones of various colors and shapes is piled up on the creek bed; unbroken geodes, quartz entwined in white, smooth stone, and raw agates fall into place among conglomerates and shale with shells embedded within the gray stone. Her cheeks, however, are still damp, and her eyes refuse to dry, and in her heart, that hollow ache that the Goddess is dead still gnaws away inside her chest.
[ OOC: Just collecting rocks and crying in the middle of sex-city. Don't mind us. For @Eris, Raglan or Eden, either one! ]
Posted by: Only - 09-07-2017, 01:32 AM - Forum: Archives
- Replies (6)
Everybody always painted themselves into a classic getaway scene after getting caught in the middle of a heist. Here they are, some half-deranged lunatic grabbing a lady's purse and darting down a busy street full of vendors selling their wares.
She has codes to some off-shore banking ruse.. Or maybe she has diamonds -- blood diamonds?
Maybe it's just money. Either way,
-he needs it (because he wants it), he takes it, and he is off!
Somewhere there is always a chicken defying physics as it flies well out of the way. Flocks of finches and pigeonfolk spray upwards into building awnings like gray spray paint. Fruit stands (why is it always a fruit stand?) get parkored or pushed over - it's always the slippery fruits or the hard round root veggies -and of course a case of sun-ripened watermelons that are practically splitting in their display case.
Hell,
-the guy with the purse clears the hood of an old buick like a spry young thoroughbred jacked on amphetamines and lands on his feet before darting into the large park all springbok style.
He disappears, never to be heard of again.
They always imagine just narrowly escaping death. Somewhere over the overpass, with infinite magazine clips there is a bullet war happening in his wake turning 'just-stuff' into swiss cheese. No one in the way gets hurt, somehow just-stuff explodes. It is always the messy kind of just-stuff too. Really colorful stuff.
Glass shatters - no one gets cut.
Cars crash and spout flames and gasoline but people are crawling out to go discuss collateral repairs over tea - no one ever catches fire here.
Mass hysteria as the bridge is crumbling apart - everyone is still smiling as they laughing run for their lives.
Perfection.
I'm getting too carried away with this.
The thought ends abruptly. Only wishes it was that easy - it is not. He wishes that was his story - it is not. Stephan wishes that Only would stop wishing for things - but he doesn't. Fear leads to worry leads to paranoia leads to, well, fear.
After waiting and waiting and waiting for the sentinels to leave the area where they lost him to heavy brush and thick woods he is finally free to move forward with his unseelie plans. Dawn won't give an inch of their time to a lousy thief like him - especially if he practices his money-grabbing skills on unsuspecting Deluminians (Delumnins? Delimnins? Oh, whatever) - they'd be so offended, he thinks. To have a criminal on their clean streets - a flaw in their otherwise perfect system. Out of respect he abandons Delumine for several days to make his journey down, down-down, down.
Into the madness,
Into the fray - Las Vegas.
It nearly kills him one quarter of the way into the pass yet - like his ancestors - he'll survive.
He sneaks into Night Court as quiet as any of his cockroach ancestors might - silent and black and slick as he travels up-wind of a private gathering. Through slippery rocks he weaves. Through bushes and between trees he goes. The gathering almost looks ceremonial but he cannot be too sure. He contemplates just taking a rock and bashing their heads in but then he remembers (two cuts on the face by the same man is enough, yes)- how bad he was at controlling things in the first place. He was practically beneath Anonymous before he got the daggar to wiggle from his sheath in the first place. The plan is out before he even begins -- self-preservation is key this time.
Keeping that in mind he moves under the shapes and shadows of the night - like a fish through water - if he were not so rotten then perhaps he would get spiritual and ask God if this is where he is meant to be all along - but he is hopeless. He is truly hopeless.
Only is as low as a cockroach, a dirty crumb-rolling cockroach, he hangs his head and focuses his yellow-green eyes on the legs and rumps of the girls - inspects them - only one is carrying something with her - a satchel. He gets so close he'll lose his hiding spot in an instant if the flowers he ate off of Flora this afternoon make him fart. He tries to concentrate as hard as he can on the object hanging off Lavinia's neck. He has been working so hard on sicks and stones - nearly dropping them all - and giving himself broken bones. But today was different - he managed to eek-by just long enough to buy some time between then and now (now meaning, when they eventually find him) so now - now he must be lucky.
And when Only feels Lucky, he tests it - the bag lifts, it lifts and Only is like a wolf sneaking up on Lavinia.
No teeth bared - just a hideous yellow glow of eyes staring up at her from the brush, a scrape of white grinning teeth.
One by one, the stones go. He's taken the fronds off of date trees and woven them together to practice his small gift.
One by one they drop into his pouch.
Lost. Stolen. Someone is shouting. Some one is warning her!
Go. Go!
Only bolts right out from underneath her nose, the smell of thieves oil thick in the air (he always smells of it, odd) and a flash of gold hooves which disappear into the night. The terrain is difficult, he slips and he slides unsteadily on ground he is unfamiliar with. No stars tonight - no moon. But he is not alone - the sound of hooves pound like thunder building in the distance. A storm? Perhaps.
ooc: Feel free to stop him up with any dead ends, traps, or by knocking him off his feet if you need to. You have permission. Sorry this was so long. D:
Light footsteps make little sound on the luscious summer grass but a shadow moves about under the moonlight. Had it not been for her pale starlike markings on her body, she would have been seemingly invisible otherwise.
Lyra was far lost in thought to even realize where she was going but without hesitation her hooves carried her down a well traveled, beaten down path. The dust behind her was minimal for she was merely walking but it seemed to catch the wind and swirl away just as fast as her mind had hours ago. Hardy hooves were being worn thin, tired of travel but willing to go just a little further but they seemed to have a mind of their own tonight as she swam back to her family in a heap of emotional memories. Memories of her homeland and the bloodshed flashed across her mind.
The young mare shook her head to clear her thoughts, what happened was in the past and she needed to keep those memories at bay. What she needed..no what she hoped for by coming to Novus and joining the Night Court was that she'd find a home. Pausing for a small rest, she glanced around with her pale silver eyes glancing up at the stars, the view of them easy to see. They were beautiful..then again all stars were. She let out a small sigh from her lips unaware to her other surroundings.
The stones rattled under the loud, thunderous beat of song -- the primal rhythm just fast enough for the ocean-kissed mare’s liking. The tendrils of control that she had been holding seemed to slip away from her with every turn that she took in the dance -- her eyes shut to ignore everything but the sound of song. Before her arrival in Denocte, dancing had been a chore -- something that she had done because she had no choice in the matter but here she had found her freedom again and the very thing meant to enslave her had been the key.
Her body was a stranger to her, the way that it was able to move and twist about as she kept time to the wordless song. Leaps and kicks, twists and somersaults -- she was quite the acrobat. Yet, all of that elegance and flair had come with a price. She shook her head, tossing those black waves, as she warded off the thoughts of evil that threatened to bring her down. She was imagining the smell of smoke, she told herself. There was no fire here.
It was the whooping call of a male that brought her back to the earth after a few more minutes. Lashed lids opened to reveal a steel glass gaze, a hush falling over them as the mare snorted and stomped her last step unnecessarily hard. Her chest heaved with the effort of the dance as she jerked her head up higher, flattening her ears against the dishevelled mass of black curls. She could hear the admonishment from her fellow Denoctens towards the young stallion who had broken the spell, although none would stay mad at him for long. Someone else would come to take her place, though perhaps not with the innate flair that she possessed.
Freya picked up the flashy piece of gold and sapphire on her way out of the small crowd, still breathing heavily as she cut a path for herself through them. She took refuge in a dark corner of the market, away from the flickering torches that disrupted Caligo’s perfect summer’s night as the thoughts that she had let go of while dancing returned to her, swarming her like flies to a rotting corpse. Her skin, rich in midnight blues, quivered and twitched as she fought back for the control of her emotions. She slipped the elaborate gold and sapphire adornment that she always wore back onto her head, feeling the cool metal against her sweaty skin start to ground her even more.
The witch who had sold her the thing had said it held some sort of magic, but Freya was a skeptic of such things. She had never seen magic for herself, therefore it did not exist.
open :3 Tagging @Reichenbach because I know we had talked about a thread, but this wasn’t the one we had in mind xD
your heart is a wild thing
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
The night was still a child, young and blissful and full of wonder. A never-ending sea of shimmering stars the color of opalescent pearls; not a single cloud covering the night sky. The summer night was cool and warm, like the small building heat from a little candle. Fireflies glimmered and ebbed and glowed as the seal bay fae stepped gingerly through the tall sweetgrass rubbing against her belly, ever wandering and without destination. She could still hear the soft beat of drums and music from the market square despite the distance — the sounds drifting along a whispering breeze like a half-remembered dream. Her muscles were tingling from her hours of twirling with the fire dancers, her skin buzzing and her mind wondrously forgetful and drunk on summer wine.
As she moved, slightly forgetting herself and stumbling on nimble hooves, she hummed, a playful smile tugging at her lips for the first time since before.. well, before him. Before her heart had swelled and shattered into millions of shards of glass. Her thoughts were muddled and as misty as mornings in the mountains as she travelled, eagerly trying to forget in all sense of the word. The winged fae swallowed her corrosive regrets and pushed the memories of his warmth and shadows down down down.. until they were bound and caged, left in a dark corner of her soul to be dealt with later or never.
Her smile drooped, and she made a face at the sky, huffing and giggling and utterly attempting to continue with her own distractions. She wanted to be careless, to be free; no longer tied to the gypsy boy who had shriveled her naïve little heart. Aislinn whirled, a billow of fireflies shooting upwards like stardust in the indigo night around her as she spun. With every soft bubble of laughter, every second of stupor tingling through her bones, and every step further from the castle, from him.. she slowly would forget. Until she was suddenly standing in the soft lapping waters of the lake, her gaze of bright blue flames taking in the reflecting silver light from the moon hanging high above her. Swishing her tail through the aqua, her nose sniffing at the purple flowers skimming the top of the small waves she created. Enchanted, her blood laced with sweet wine, and happy.
And as elated and forgetful as a child of the Night should ever be.
@asterion once he's approved dearie ♡
Set right after the events of the court of dreams! "Aislinn speech."
