A day of gathering had allowed the Champion of Wisdom to wander far from the Night Court, to the lands that none but gods ruled to find the herbs that were not at home. Several plants only grew in this particular area, thanks to the creek, and now with night descending, it was easier to see them.
The plant glowed with a subtle softness, even chiming with the magical properties it had. Just a soft hum, it seemed like, enough to be heard and seen. With the moon above, the plant seemed to glow even more, the eerie pale leaves waving. Carefully, she plucked it, using her minor telekinesis to do it, and ensuring she got all of the roots to the best of her ability.
With a gentle motion, she opened her bag, and allowed herself to place the root in among others of its kind, all softly glowing, though no longer making any sort of noise now that it was harvested. It would be good to bring it back home, and use it for salves and potions that the caretakers would need.
Smiling to herself, Araxes moved, shifting to walk along the creek slowly, peering and keeping an eye out for more of the plants. It shouldn't be hard.... -- her ears twitched at a sound, and her wings gave a flicker before her head lifted up, nostrils flaring a little. There was a distinct scent on what little wind there was in the summer night, but it was still.. heavy, and familiar. Enough to make her bob her head just a little and turn her body, almost excited to see who it was.
"Tor!" She was maybe a little louder than necessary, but all the same, she danced forward, her bag flapping a little against her chest before she leaned forward. Wings tucked, and she nuzzled against his neck, almost nickering to herself as she touched against him. He was so warm (as always) and now that she knew him better.. well. Personal space wasn't in the equation anymore.
All the same.
"I didn't expect to see you out here," she mentioned, drawing her head back to look up at him, feathers ruffling and fluffing, almost on a display if she were to be an actual bird of some sort.
@Torstein || bc why not have them in the romantic encounters land lmfao
With the setting of the sun came a welcome reprieve to its relentless heat. Of course, the interior side of the Court’s citadel could provide just that, as could the heavy tree line that bordered Delumine. But for a warrior such as Ulric, such areas did not provide an unobstructed view of his surroundings. As a warrior to the Dawn, it was his duty to keep a vigilant eye out for any telltale signs of trouble so that he could put a swift end to it, or if he were unable, do everything in his power to protect its denizens and get them out of harm’s way.
But as the setting sun cast a brilliant display of reds, purples and pinks across the cerulean sky above, Ulric knew that the last bit of sunlight would soon perish and douse the land in darkness, save for the dim light of the waning moon. Though his time in Novus had thus been short, it seemed a peaceful place to call home, but the roan knew better than to believe that peace could be everlasting. Trouble had always seemed to follow him no matter where he wandered, and it would only be luck that it didn’t come traipsing after him here. For the sake of Delumine alone, he prayed that it did not.
Having found an outcropping of rocks, it was there that Ulric sought to post himself up for the duration of night. Unfurling his wings partially from his sides, he used them to aid in keeping himself balanced as he ventured up the height of it. From there, he would be able to get the best view possible across the expanse of flatlands, and with the citadel settled within view behind him, he would be able to act at once should anything arise.
It would be a long and lonely night with only the stars as his company, but hopefully it would be a serene one – at least it would mean he was tending to his duties as he ought to be.
She found herself often staring at the night sky, not because she was entranced by the twinkling stars or the veiled mystery of the night -- no...she considered the ways that she might take one of Caligo's stars for her own. If she had a pair of strong wings, she wondered if she might ever return to the earth or if she might choose to live among the stars and leave behind the pain of her life at last. Darkly lashed lids slid over the fae's glass eyes, her face void of the pain that she felt stirring in her gut. She looked at peace, save for the subtle twist of her mouth -- the way that her ears pinned back against her dark curls.
Despite her appearance on the peak, Freya was not there to worship. No, far from it -- her disdain for the gods just as potent as the one she held for men. How many nights in her youth had she cried out for the help of the gods....any god, and they had stood silently by as she suffered? They did not deserve her praise...nor that of anyone else. The gods were just silly stories that parents told their foals in order to keep them in line, lest they invoke wrath. The blue roan allowed her head to lower slowly, her nares flaring in order to take in the heady scent of a summer night. Even here, on the mount, where snow still touched the ground and the air was thin it was apparent that the summer season was in full swing.
Her feet moved with an abstract rhythm to a song that only she could hear, the click of her hooves loud in the cavernous space. Her back to the opening, she ventured further into the realm of worship -- a hushed whisper of wind and the sound of chirping insects the only companions. The inside of the cave was like a wonder of the world, spiraling stone columns holding the cave's roof far above her head. The thick blankets of moss and flowering ivy kept the cavern from echoing too much, allowing the privacy of those seeking to truly worship. Freya siged softly, approaching the altar meant for Caligo. Another role to play, that of a devout servant to an unseen master. At least... She thought. I can understand her pain.
Her offering was measly, certainly not her best -- no that had all gone to the Night King, Reichenbach and his crows. He had shown her a kindness when she had arrived in Denocte, and had kept her out of any real trouble. She repaid him now with the coin she earned as a dancer and entertainer -- but rarely hung around the Crows now. She had little interest in keeping friends or company anyway, and most of the Crows her age...well they had found their place in the Court. They became functioning members of society -- but Freya was still caught in the snares of her past, and didn't allow her to move forward. So she continued as she always had -- like a ghost, never fully free.
She set the gold down on the altar, muttering a small prayer if only for the appearance. And perhaps...somewhere in the depth of her heart, where she did not allow anyone to see...she meant what she asked for.
first post! tagging a couple of night court people who may be interested, but anyone from any court welcome!
@Reichenbach @Aislinn @Camdis @Mila @Raum
Character #2:Arion Bonded: no Magic: no Armor: no Weapons: no
It was time to work off the softness that had begun to settle into his bones. It was the first lesson his father had ever taught him about fighting; you had to keep at it, or all the hard earned skill and experience would dull and fade into the mists of memory, until nothing remained but a fat arse and empty pride. He would be disappointed in Finnian if he could see the son now. Many weeks had passed since he stepped into a training circle, and it had been almost as long since he practiced his forms. The lack of swords or sparring partners was not a valid excuse, but Fin comforted himself with the thought that the old man would have been glad enough just to see him alive after everything that'd happened, flabby buttocks or not.
Things were apparently different here. They called the stone citadel a capitol and a court, but to Finnian's eyes so accustomed to the splendors of the Old World, it looked run down and poor. There were no guards to line the corridors, no fencing halls in which to train, no instructors or weapons masters to ensure that no skills were dulled under their watchful eyes. Instead, what he had been directed to was this trampled field many leagues from the great halls, dusty and browned from the relentless glare of the sun and countless trampling hooves. As he looked around in dispirited silence, a hot wind picked up the dirt from the ground and sent up a dusky cloud that could blind even the most alert of fighters. Blue eyes followed the cloud until the wind died down again, then turned his attention back to the blacksmith with an expression that expressed louder than words his lack of enthusiasm.
"Really?" he said. "Ye fight here, all year around? In the sun and the rain and in snow too? I do not know if ye're hardy or just insane..."
But Finnian supposed it did make a sort of sense... As his father had often tried to impress upon him, real battles were rarely fought in palaces. Perhaps it was better to train in the kind of terrain one expected to fight in when it counted.
Summary: Finnian is critical of the locale and is standing around, relaxed and very unprepared.
The summer sun was high in the noonday sky, blazing hot and bright as he stepped through the sand. With each step, Voltaire sank deeper into the warm and golden grains, and the sand forced its way through his fur, itching with every step. His blue black coat glittered in the sunlight, bringing a shine along his back and through his ombre hued mane and tail. And on his head, the burdensome crystal horn seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. In the heat of the summer, the weight seemed more onerous than usual. But as heavy as his heart was, his mind was busy enough to keep him from dwelling on it.
His dark lashes pushed away the sand as it blew and stung against his coat, and the dryness in the air caused his skin to feel tight against his muscular frame. He was uncomfortable, but this continued to be a part of his penance. It was a punishment he had to bear, to atone for his sins.
He blinked against the golden sunlight, willing away the heat as he pressed onward into Solterra, deeper into this new and mysterious land. The stallion did not know what secrets it held, but knew it was somewhere new. A place where he would find a fresh start. In the past several years, the blue stag seemed to always be on the run – always abandoning his past in favor of someplace new. It was as if he could never outrun the past that haunted him – as if he could never compensate for the betrayal. But still, Voltaire had to try and find his peace once more.
Ahead, he saw the Day Court rise from the wasteland, a single beacon of hope in an otherwise harsh world. Its sandstone walls were tall and ominous, but inside, he knew there would be shelter from the elements. Despite his constant self-flagellation, Voltaire continued toward it, stepping through the narrow arches and into the courtyard of this kingdom. Here, the dust on the cobbled floor seemed to blow away, the halls well kept by the sages of Solis. Stopping only once he was deep within the temple, the blue stallion whinnied to whoever would come to find him, the sound rebounding from stone walls to call them here.
Let them come. The strangers and the demons. It would be a welcome distraction from the nightmares of his past.
This particular morning, the grey lady was thankful that the weather was not quite as oppressive as it could have been. The air was not thick with humidity like many days before had been, but rather it was light and clean as the morning breeze fluttered through the grasses and plant life around where she rested. This particular day, she had taken refuge in one of the many meadows spread about the land of Delumine and was more than content to lie there sternal with her belly to the cool earth while her back basked in the warmth of morning sun. She had to admit, she was still getting used to enjoying this kind of weather; she didn't recall generally pleasant weather on the mountain and the places her travels took her tended to have more a unsettled climate. Despite that, Ygraine was quite appreciative of the temperate environment she'd found herself in as of late and she would have been lying if she hadn't given silent thanks to the Gods when she woke this morning.
Her fores were tucked under her chest where she rested, hind limbs out to the side while she lazily enjoyed her quiet morning; maybe later she would go out exploring. The seemingly endless abundance of flowers growing nearby piqued her interest, many of them being types she was not exactly familiar with and it would have been wise of her to maybe try and surmise if any of them had any properties that were beneficial to her or not. Of course, experimenting within reason; no need to get sick over foolish judgement. Her agenda was surely laid out for her for the rest of the day, but for now she chose to ignore it. Ygraine was more than content lying where she was, nibbling on the grasses easily accessible around her.
Despite her looking rather complacent where she was, the grullo lady still kept her wits about her. Her ears were constantly turning this way and that, processing the sounds around her and subconsciously determining if danger was afoot or not. Her nares were breathing deep, paying close mind to the scents around her in case of any change on the wind she needed to be made aware of. So although she looked relaxed as one could be, she was poised to leap to her feet at a moment's notice if need be. As of late, everything seemed quiet besides the usual symphony of the biome. Though she soon noticed a rustling not too far off to to the east of her that seemed out of place with the soundtrack around her. Unable to see the cause from where she was, the pale faced lady sprung to her feet and looked out to the expanse of the meadow, her pale eyes narrow and focused while she searched for the source. Hopefully it wasn't going to warrant a fight; she really wasn't in the mood for that.
Several days after his near fatal brush with the ocean and the subsequent rescue by the locals, Finnian had finally been allowed to move about freely again. 'No foolishness, and don't leave the citadel for a few days' were the orders the mender had left him with, and truth be told the young stallion was not in a hurry to disobey. His head still hurt, a white-hot stab of pain that crackled through the inside of his skull whenever he turned his head too quickly, and beneath the golden hide his skin was still black and blue from the close encounter with the cliffs.
But long convalescence was not something he was used to and it grated on his nerves to stare up at the same ceiling day after day. He had nagged the caretakers until they finally relented, like as not to escape his whining rather than because he was really fit to move about. Finnian didn't care; with boyish delight he ignored the complaints of his body and set out to explore the keep, this grand stone citadel that stood at the center of what he had come to understand to be the main gathering place of the people who lived here.
Wherever 'here' was. There had been no time to ask questions yet. Speaking was still as painful as anything else, the conversations of the past few days limited to 'yes' and 'no' with a voice torn half asunder from salt water and whatever screaming he must have been doing during his time at sea. Finnian recalled little of it. Only the sensation of being tossed about for hours, the helplessness in the face of the merciless power and ferocity of the elements. The sensation of water rushing in through his mouth and nose, and the choking, panicked realization that he was drowning...
It was a relief then to find himself alive, even if it was in a strange place filled with unfamiliar people. That part didn't bother him nearly as much as the memories, because it had been his intention from the start to get away, to start over somewhere new. Aside from nearly drowning, he thought it had worked out fairly well!
As he roamed the hallways and peered into empty rooms, the raven-haired youth eventually found his way out onto a terrace. He blinked and looked out over the banister, awed at the warmth of the sun that shone down upon the capitol below. The stones seemed almost to glow in the brilliant light, and for as far as he could see there was only green and blue, vast grasslands that stretched on endlessly beneath a cloudless sky, interrupted only by the looming cliffs and the sea beyond. Breathlessly Finnian looked, twisting and reaching dangerously far out into the void to try and see more; greedily he absorbed the beauty of the land and felt a hunger wake within him, a deep desire to see it all up close, to explore it and find out all there was to know about them. His impatience at being stuck behind stone walls increased a thousandfold, and as he settled back and rested his chin upon the balustrade he couldn't help but heave a deep sigh.
It was so hard to fathom that the wide horizon was the only home he had now. To never go back... he could never truly have comprehended what that meant until he was not there anymore, and now that he understood, Finnian almost regretted his decisions.
She had always been a lonely child, running off after birds, gazing at the sky in silence, closing her eyes and imagining entire realms on the inside of her eye-lids. However she had never felt this particularly lonely, not like this.
She had always known deep down in her core that she was alone, it didn’t take her very long to confront her family about it. She had always known that she didn’t belong, that she wasn’t theirs..not really anyway, it’s impossible to fake pure and unconditional love. They never even tried, only wanting her for one thing only and that was to carry on the family line. To be a slave. At least her and her brother were able to escape their homeland. Though..she hadn't seen her brother in years, she still had hope she would one day.
A sigh escapes her lips, just the faintest of smiles showing. She bats her lashes and cocks her head to look at the sky, why is she no longer content with watching the sky in silence? Perhaps she had grown out of it, maybe she was finally grown up?
Shaking her head a bit, she decides to continue with her wandering around the sideralis prairie. She was only a commoner in the Night Court but that didn't mean she didn't have things to do that were important. She still had much to learn about this land, it's history and it's people. She was not a native and it left her feeling even more lonely. She desperately wanted a friend. Just one..
The sound of crashing waves is like music to her ears, the sharp, slanted crags of cliff side a picture of perfection. They were all familiar, reminiscent to the World's Edge of Helovia. To home. To her life before. It was the first semblance of normality in her life since, well... Since her death, and then her resurrection, coming back to a world that was new, frightening, and unfamiliar.
Israfel had not asked to die. She had not fought brilliantly and bravely to her death, nor had she stood against tyranny or oppression before meeting her end. The reasons behind her very own death were a mystery to the Sun Daughter, and they left her wanting. Questions formulated in her mind, gathering and fermenting, yet remained unanswered. Perhaps they never would be answered, and the simple thought was enough to douse her heart in melancholy and doubt. This world was not Helovia, and while a part of her, the new part of her, realized that and understood the implications that this could never be Helovia and that she needed to move on, the innocent child of her mind scrabbled in denial, in fear of change and her lack of ability to adapt.
A heavy breath left parted lips, rose-petal pink in color. The Daughter of the Sun stood among the flatlands overlooking the rocky crags, fiery vermilion eyes peering down at the churning, crashing waves down below. Her wings were stretched out, ripe alabaster and gold, stretching out to simply feel the breeze filter through every feather, the tips of grand wings brushing the ground in her languid stretch. Had she the heart, Israfel would have realized it looked suspiciously like she might be preparing to jump to the sharp rocks below and changed her posture, but... Alas. Still, the thought brought a quirked sort of grin to pale pink lips. The breeze tousled the gilded strands of her mane, creating a wild look of disarray that she would have once loathed, but Israfel, well... She was learning that there was much more to life than her appearance, pride, and ego.
She had arrived to this cliff side by accident, by chance, only an hour ago. The sun was setting, creating a picturesque display before her very eyes. The breeze carried with it the taste of salt, and she relished in it. Slowly, the gilded maiden lifted her head, striking vermilion eyes sliding closed, and let herself feel the world around her. For now, she would absorb the world around her before resting for the night, and come dawn's first light would she continue her venture with no destination.
Summer would have its way with him, it seemed; bright daylight slipped between the cracks of his eyelids when he slept, and the heat was a warm hand always on him. He was not made for it, would never love it, was only now coming to tolerate it — but he would be lying if he said some part of it did not make him think of her. Heat like bright July and golden eyes that burned, their banter quick as an afternoon storm.
It drew a smile even now.
And maybe that was a gift, too, for smiles had been few and far between for the unicorn of late. The more he learned of the people of Dusk, the more his loyalties to Hiemsterra felt ill-fitting, an itch like shedding out his winter coat. Each night, when he said brief prayer to Glacies, he envisioned Rannveig’s green eyes on him when she asked him to be Warden. He ought to have been glad; it was a better position than he could have hoped for, to know the workings of Dusk beyond a commoner’s knowledge. But he had never been a liar, and the thought of playing spy chafed, worrying him like wolf jaws on a bone in the bitterest of winter.
Which was why, when he caught a certain scent - a scent of sand and summer and day, her scent, unmistakable and unforgettable - he thought he’d conjured it himself out of desperate need for distraction. Morozko stopped where he’d stood, deep within the citadel where the stone was still cool and the shadows deep.
It was faint, a ghost of a thing, but there were two others along with it, ones he knew just as well: Rannveig, and blood.
A disconcerting mixture, all in all.
The sound of his footsteps followed him as he continued, sunlight skimming over his back each window he passed beneath, and he did not allow his pace to quicken as he turned for the infirmary. When he found it, it was quiet, though there were sounds of stirring from within. He did not hold his breath as he rounded the corner - and as soon as he saw her he froze. The length of a heartbeat passed, then two, before his soldier’s instincts overrode his surprise and he swept his silver eyes over her. When they found the bandage wrapped around her leg, his mouth drew into a grim line. “That’s a hell of an excuse to come back here,” he said, his gaze slipping back to hers. “What’s the other guy look like?”
