An expanse of green spread before her, the entire world on the horizon. A beautiful canvas, plastered with colors of both day and night, the sky split in half, seemingly confused. The grass tickled at the soft skin on her tinted legs as the woman moved quietly over the earth, her cloven hooves leaving no sound behind her.
Head held high, the starry woman’s eyes focused on the distance as a warm breeze wove through her creamy locks. It was a wonder, here in the dusk court, where everything was unknown and the world hung in a constant state of pause. Upon her arrival, the lady had been utterly stunned at the appearance of the sky. Yes, of course she had seen dusk, many times, but this was different. It was incredible, every aspect of the heavens more exquisite in this place. The paused setting of the sun brought on a tranquil atmosphere that radiated throughout the lands. Everything remained calm and peaceful, the very air was kind. “What a spectacular place to call home,” Cassi whispered, her words a breath on a mild gale that caressed her face as it passed by.
Velvet lips closed lightly as her opal eyes once again set upon the horizon, her fascination with the environment being stored within the depths of her mind. Nowhere else had she seen such an event, where time seemed to stand still and she could thank him for his negligence. However, this land seemed to be almost unoccupied and she was unaware of anyone nearby. A sigh escaped her as she continued to look upon the horizon, a poem forming in her mind, as always.
Vadim had experienced vastness before. In his life, vast was a word for rolling seas of golden sand shining beneath a brilliant sun or silvered by the full face of the moon and stars. So much like his home, the Mors Desert held a token of such vastness and yet... and yet it was different. The very sunlight seemed a little queer as though his eyes did not behold it in quite the same way. The sand was both sharper and softer, dirtier and brighter.
The wind smelled wrong.
And so he had fled the echo of his home for a place that was totally alien to him. A lush plain, the grass turned amber by the changing of the season and the sweet smell of hay and wildflowers thick in the air. The color was largely robbed from the plain by night but it began to trickle back in as he waded through the tall grass. Dawn colored the horizon in a gentle blush of rose and lavender, lightning the ink dark. One by one the stars winked out overhead. The sickle moon sank low behind him as he strode towards the rising sun. Each step was light, a dancer's gait, the gentle breeze that bowed the heads of the wild grains buoying him up. Though he had no power of flight, sometime he almost felt like he could take wing. Like he was weightless.
Sometimes he wondered, in placed like this, if he couldn't just walk into the sun. Walk and keep walking until the fire of it consumed him in heat and brilliance. Carry him up into the brightness of the sky, above any veil of clouds. He tossed his head, a gesture that seemed incomplete on the mane-less equine. Pale eyes the color of a clear, bright day stayed fixed on the horizon. Abruptly he lept forward, long legs flying. The wind was not so strong as to draw him along but he could create a fragment of his own, whipping back his ears and bringing tears to his eyes as he raced across the flat plain, body low and long as he whipped through the grass.
The headlong sprint came to an end as abruptly as it started, slowing to a breathless halt beneath the shade of a leaning, sparsely foliaged tree. His golden coat darkened near to bronze where sweat soaked it in the joints and on the angled planes of his neck. The white on his face remained pristine, unmarked by exertion or heat. His thin, sparse tail whipped back and forth, slowly fanning his lean muscled hips. His ribs expanded in great breaths to oxygenate the hot blood that rushed close beneath his thin skin. In his flight, he had left behind the unease and anxiety that had plagued him from Solterra, leaving his mind whipped clean by the wind.
When the field became soft and damp under hoof, the girl was, at first, terribly afraid that she had somehow been returned to the terrible swampland in which this whole nightmare had begun. Pausing to stare out at it with her nostrils quivering with deep, shaky breaths, and her heart hammering in her chest, the girl breathes a heady sigh of relief when she looks behind her to find the rolling, emerald fields still intact.
She even manages to make her way into the mire, itself, though slowly, and with great reservation. Her pale green eyes are always pinned on the horizon for a black pillar, at least when they aren’t fluttering down to her hooves, watchful for the dead.
A song formulates in the hind of her thoughts, as it almost always does, but she does not cast her words to the wind, still silenced by her memories of the last marsh she had walked. This one is certainly not it, but the terrible feelings she associates with these wet, earthy smells and the squelch of the mud beneath her dainty, toed hooves is one she associates with the end of the world.
The serenity of this realm, however, is enchanting; even as she moves forward, hocks muddied and the ends of her cream tail sodden and dragging behind her, the youth is slowly moved from fear, to wonder as to what will arrive to view next. Trees, living ones, not just skeletal remnants with blackened bark and hollow hearts, begin to rise from the murk, and mist swirls about their weathered, unique trunks. Moss tickles her back from where it dangles from overhead branches, and the only sound about her seems to be her hooves.
Wondering who she’ll meet out here, if anyone at all, she pauses to stare out across the swamp she has not yet crossed, and wonders, too, just what sort of land lays beyond it.
[ OOC: Open to anyone <3 ]
so give me hope in the Darkness
that I will see the Light
your heart is a wild thing
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
The day had dragged, long and slow and lazy, before Solis allowed the Night Goddess to step into the sky with all of her grace and shadows. A rare night indeed; for a certain stormsinger was uncommonly bound inside the walls of the court's castle, instead of dancing beneath Calligo's sea of stars. Tonight was not meant for revelry and decanters of summer wine; no, this night was all business. A discussion, a plan. As a born and trained warrior, she had a need to guarantee the safety of those near and dear to her. Which not only included her tribe, but now the whole of Denocte's people.. her people. And now, as the chosen Champion of Battle, her need had become a duty. One, for the matter, she did not plan at faltering at.
So she had drafted the letters to every sworn warrior of Night's glorious darkness; every protector that would stand against the tidal waves of war, should the occasion arise. Most, she realized, she did not yet know.. and very few had she become to begin to know. After tonight, she hoped, that that very fact would change — that Calligo's warriors would unite and become comrades, defenders of the court of smoke and stars.
Should you wish,
I ask of you to join me in the war room tomorrow,
after the sun has finally drifted off to sleep.
She recalled each letter she had wrote, and the shortly-shorn locks of her ombré mane that accompanied each bundle of paper and wax. Leaving the invitation without a signature, without a name, but only her tell-tale hair to show true faith of whom was asking for their presence. With a borrowed Rahilah barn owl, she had tied each letter with ribbon around the bird's bell-adorned legs, before sending it off and starting on another. Aislinn recalled the bubble of emotions that had surfaced with each one; in particular, she had faltered at writing the name of her king. She had hesitated, fury and regret and ache eating at her from the inside out before she hastily finished it.. wanting nothing more than to be done with the thing. Her heart was still raw and bleeding, and although she half-hoped Reichenbach would not come, she prepared for the oncoming rip of heartache anyway.
Now she waited, more or less impatiently, circling the round table in the center of the room with all of her restless energy. Orbs of icy flames bore into the maps that littered the table top, her starlight-and-ink colored mane out of her face and carefully plaited into multiple intricate braids. The candelabras surrounding the circular room were lit and casting an orange glow, reflecting off her eyes as her gaze flickered from the maps to the heavy oak doors. Waiting, hoping, until whomever answered her call opened up the doors to join her.
@nora @noah @erum @lumaris @polunin @judal + any NC warriors I've missed.
@reichenbach @camdis @lothaire should you wish as the Regime <3
@rostislav - this is a formal invitation, however I know you're being stolen currently x3
This is not a mandatory meeting, however, if you would like your character to be "in the know" about NC defenses, your presence is encouraged! <3 "Aislinn speech."
quelch. Squish. Splash. Gag. The sounds of the rosy mare's steps sending a new, queasy wave of nausea through her body as she traveled ever deeper into the swamp. She treaded carefully, with a poised hoof lifted over the water, as if each step had her second guessing if she wanted to sink further into the murk. Her legs were covered in a thick layer of mud, splashed upwards onto the underside of her belly, utterly disgusted that her long mane and tail dragged in the water. The crone cursed aloud, mumbling to herself in a string of swear words.
She recalled leaving the borders of Delumine in the wee hours of morning, traveling as the sun made it's slow ascent across the sky. It had been late afternoon when she had crossed into foreign territory, and then early evening by the time she had arrived at the Tinea. But now, in the heart of the swamp, the thick of humidity and trees and mud had all but sucked the sunlight out of the atmosphere; a bubble of muted colors and mysterious happenings. For the only reason why Nimue would waste an entire mortal day prowling such a dreary place was for a rumor.. of another witch. Someone much like her own.
Curiosity had dragged her here, in hopes of finding out the truth of this other woman. The Swamp Witch, they had whispered. She remembered snickering at the name before she realized that maybe, just maybe, this woman of Dusk might be like her in some way. Nimue had attempted using her newfound Sight to try and See the stranger without having to visit in-the-flesh. But alas, either by drained energy or lack of experience as a mortal being, the timelines were muddled and blurry — much like the swamp where this witch called home.
Squelch. Another step, another string of curse words, as a hammer pounded against the inside of her skull. Her frustration was palpable, mailable, as her headache raged and her Sight continued to fail her. Squish, splash, gag, as she continued deeper into the swamp to find this other witch.
@Yana + anyone welcome ♡
Figured I'd throw an initial meet & greet thread up haha
Jude
Without losing a piece of me
How do I get to heaven?
Some might believe the greatest moment of his life had been when he had descended from the pyre reborn, ashes falling from his skin to reveal his new body. There was no greater moment though than the first time Isorath first smiled at him. Jude had sworn the sun shone brighter in the wake of the gesture and he had been blinded in the light of his beauty. Gods envied that prince and he knew they’d fight to even get a glimpse of him… But how long has it been since he’s seen that smile? Jude only had it for a moment before it dissipated, a blip, a mere wisp that faded. He reaches into the abyss and flounders like a blind man, trying to find that single light in the darkness but it isn’t there. Jude had waited. He had waited for Isorath until he couldn’t wait any longer. Whether it was love or infatuation that drove him he couldn’t quite place it but he couldn’t rest. There was malcontent even in the resplendence of his home, the lavish life that had been blessed after his Burning. Waiting would not restore the broken pieces of his heart, waiting would not ease the throbbing ache in his chest. Jude had gathered himself and his feline, descending from the city and to the docks. It was madness. It was foolhardy with a certainty to fail but he had to believe there was a chance for him. If it was meant to be he would find her… he would find Isorath and he would look upon that smile that can eclipse the sun and maddened it with envy.
In his quiet cabin he fell asleep to lullabies of drunken sailors and the crooning of the waves against the ship. Tucked in the darkness of underneath the deck he prayed to whatever fragment of the universe that would listen he’d find his prince and gaze upon her again. Mittens fed on nothing but the rats found in the ship and the journey became a maddening blur as fever set in and Jude fell ill. Sheer willpower kept him from death’s hand and reaching shore did little to help him regain the strength in his limbs.
The tireless road only seemed to rub his heart raw and it would bleed out. Fear settled in and it became a crippling vice as he stumbled aimlessly wondering when he finally would cave to the longing for home and the sequestered quiet of his home. Jude had missed his garden. He had missed the sound of the pond as he lazed by it in the morning light, spending his hours painting and dozing.
Now he is tired. He lays at the peak and stares down at the rocking ocean as it beats against the rocks. Mittens was gone. Their bond severed by a veil and viciously torn apart leaving him alone.
“I want to go home,” Jude whispers as the tears form in his eyes and begin to pour down his cheeks and he let his head fall, the strands of pink falling into his face to disguise the pools of tears that fall from his face. There is no stopping them as the flood gates open “I want to see him.. I want my cat.. I want to not lie in a pile of dirt as a bed.” He sniffs and then lays his head down into the grass and pools of pink rest down. “I want to see him..” He whispers again to himself before feeling a soft sob hit his body and again he sniffs. For once the silence and the loneliness is a welcome thing because his tears will be his own and no one can mock him for his yearning.
"a second option."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
It had happened suddenly, as these things often do in the desert. He had been drowsing in the heat of the midday sun, only barely awake, when a shadow had fallen over him. Then he smelled it. The sharp ozone and dust smell of sand driven hard before the wind. The kind of storm that created life, and stole it away. The white masked head lifted quickly, all trace of weariness lost. Energy animated his body as if struck by lightning, limbs dancing and throwing up sand with his small, round hooves. The wall of sand drove closer and he finally turned from the glory of it and fled. His limbs stretched out in a wild dance, chased before the wind like the first horses of Veter. This was not, of course, the Veter Wind. It was a cousin to it though and he could feel it in his bones as if it would seize him and carry him before it as though he was little more than dust.
He stumbled at the edge of a rise, nearly falling disastrously down a sudden spill of sand skirting the edge of rocky columns. His legs flailed for balance and his head tossed. Eyes wild and white he managed to check his momentum with a surprisingly graceful curvette to the side. A few more quick strides took him into the lee of the rocks near the waterfall that sprang like blood from a wound in the desert. He had not been here before.
Though shrouded in shadow, there was a surprisingly lush beauty to the place. A tiny paradise hidden in the desert. This, he wondered, was this the true heart of Solterra? Not the crumbling walls and claustrophobic courts, but this? The spring that fed it's life's blood to the desert and created a place to feed and rest and shelter.
The stallion sidled closer to the waterfall and closer to the rock face, glad for the reprieve from the sandstorm. His skin shivered, the grains of sand driven under the fine hairs of his coat uncomfortable. They turned the golden hide into a dusty yellow, and dimmed the brightness of his white face. Sand was all-consuming. It wanted everything to be like itself and so it tried to change you to be like it, or to bury you if it couldn't.
One striped hoof stamped the sandy ground, then he lowered his head to drink. The energy of the storm had not left him. Not while it raged around him like this. But it had abated, leaving him shivering in his own skin and restless but smart enough to wait for it to pass.
Happy. I'm fucking happy. I've got Damaris. And my damn ENCHANTED FLASK! HA! Weir in my life. Reichenbach, Camdis. Hell, all of the merry fellows I saw there at the party. Something told me that I would take pleasure in learning all of their names. My tail swishes back and forth, trying to balance me as I stumble away from the heart of the Court, to the outskirts as I make my way toward the wilderness. Damaris tags along beside me, for once not reprimanding me for my merriness, my silliness. Instead she seems to be as cheerful as I am, happy. Fucking happy.
I glance up at the stars and give thanks to this goddess Caligo, one that I barely know but that seems so wonderful. I wonder if I don't see the stars sparkle back at me, cheering me on. I take another sip from the flask, enjoying the dry taste of the wine trickling down my throat. Sure it's no vodka, but if this is what the Gods give me then so be it. It's better than nothing! As I'm sipping, my balance is thrown off by the tipping of my head back, and I tumble, falling to the ground with a heavy THUD.
I hear Damaris snicker as wine splashes my maw, and I resume my drinking, slowly settling back into the long grass. The sounds of merriment from the party are just a hint on the wind. Somehow I've traveled farther than a drunk should be able to. Finally I let the flask fall to my side, and I lay my head down on the ground. Damaris approaches and curls up a few feet away from me, avoiding the stink of wine on my breath. She whispers a goodnight through her mind. My lids close, and soon I'm snoring -- alcohol tends to induce that.
Petals tumble into open water and float away to drift through slow, slow waters.
The air had once only been alive with the sounds of chirping insects, with the flutter of birds wings. But now it rings too with the rhythmical clop of feet upon wood.
Slowly the Dusk girl navigates her way over the slender wooden bridge as it weaves its idle way over stagnant water and tall trees. There is nothing here that rushes: not the indolent waters, or the lazy sway of hanging vines, not the languid chirp of unseen insects, nor even the girl who meanders gently past them all.
The air is thick, with moisture, with a damp that sticks to Florentine’s caramel coat. Her skin darkens like glittering beads, her nostrils flare a little harder, then harder still to pull oxygen from this water-rich air.
It is both an age and an hour until the shadows begin to abate, hazy sunlight falling in to light upon leaves and glittering water. All it touches turns to gold, gold, gold. The trees begin to thin and the water makes its slow, slow way out into the open.
This old bridge, of wooden planks and intricate carvings, fans out spreading and spreading beyond where the trees stop and into a vast area of reeds and crystal pools. This swampland open and glorious, stretches out and out to catch the sun as it falls towards the horizon.
An idle boat, seemingly empty, lies still upon the shallow, shallow waters. It makes no noise, no effort to move from its resting place.
Florentine stands upon the platform, her amethyst eyes upon the falling sun. Petals surround her – the flare of a skirt, the pooling of a living veil. She ignores them, for there is only one thing this platform is designed for, secreted away within this dank, dank marshland. It was a secluded meeting place, hidden from prying eyes and above all, it is a glorious place too to watch the twilight light begin to glow.
hey would have the cover of darkness if they descended upon the night court now, and they'd need every advantage to be successful. The Soltrrans knew not an inch of those mountains or fields, and the Night court while full of strangers was still a home of unpredictable vagabonds and gypsies. Reconnaissance was always a difficult task, especially when it involved reeling back perpetrators and targets. It was this in mind that caused Maxence to chose his most reliable soldier, and one he believed would get the job done regardless of their personal differences.
"Avdotya!" He boomed across the court from where he stood on the balcony of his quarters, soon to call out the next name which left his lips with a bitter taste. "Velorca"
As he fled down to the courtyard where he hoped to meet them, Maxence was almost shocked ot find the morning felt almost cold. The sun was yet to come up, though the sky was already shaded with a translucent shade of lavender and the promise of daybreak. If they set off now, they'd surely make it to Denocte by the time the night was in full swing.
@Avdotya @Velorca
Get your balaclavas kiddies, lets get to work.
