Raum slinks down into the depths of the mountains. He is a shadow upon the grey rock, a whisper over parched grasses.
Mila is a silhouette upon the distance, as fragile as a deer and as changeable as sand. He keeps her in sight as he weaves his way over the loose terrain of skittering rocks.
He is owl silent, pouring down the mountain towards her as though he were made only of smoke. Appearing beside the younger Crow is blue eyes gleam.
“Hello Mila.” He murmurs, those Crow eyes ever watchful. The mountains stir, echoing his voice and it makes him restless, uneasy. Even in the heart of Denocte the Ghost boy does not trust easily.
Wings carry his mind back to the King of Thieves’ sister all red hot fire beneath the unrelenting sun. It was their home now, beneath Solis’ watchful eye, but here, here beneath the shifting night and shadows, this is where he belonged. A creature of mystery and shadow such as he could truly belong nowhere else.
Unlike Rhoswen.
His upper lip curled with displeasure, but eases as his eyes tumble from the mountains to find the young girl before him. “How are the crows?” He asks softly. Raum could not return often, not with watchful watchful Solterran eyes everywhere. Not even the Ghost of Denocte could easily escape that place, shadowless as it was.
His eyes sweep back from mountain ledges to the gypsy child, a dash of sand and tropical beauty in an otherwise rugged, stone terrain.
@Mila and anyone else who wishes to join - especially them Crows
Sunlight fractured through the stained glass windows adorning Solterra's famed ballroom which, even in such a state of disrepair, was still a sight to behold. She had pushed silently through the tall, dust-collecting doors, stiff as she had imagined they would be, to creep into a room which might have existed only in her dreams. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; in Rhoswen's mind not even the ocean could rival this ancient embellished tomb. For gold and crystal as old as the ground beneath their feet glimmered everywhere, woven so intricately upon the walls, paintings of their great warrior-God Solis watching from the impossibly high ceiling above. Chandeliers with tall candlers dangled proudly: a promise of light and revelry. In a Court which treasured hardship, austerity and militance, the Solterran ballroom was the only exception. Rhos remembered the fireside tales of how the Day Courtians of old would host a great formal ball for all the courts upon the night of midsummer once every five years, and oh what a spectacle it had been. A moment of peace, of prosperity, and of course a perfect display of wealth and power.
Of course, there had not been a ball for nigh a hundred years; they existed now only in the mouths of children and the myths written in scrolls. Rhoswen sighed, blowing the dust from a particularly large candelabra - perhaps one day this room would be alive with music and voices again. It seemed such a waste.
@Raum short but i wanted to get something up quickly xx
Posted by: Maude - 08-25-2017, 08:07 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
Once she’d garnered some idea of where she was – the Dusk Court, the tall boy had said – the next step was, logically, to expand upon that knowledge.
She had begun by exploring the large, green field into which she had initially been deposited, but aside from the occasional sight of a person or another, or various wild animals (that were, blessedly, normal enough, like Helovia’s), there was very little other than tall, swaying grass. Not that Maude disliked the sea of delicious green, of course, but it wasn’t the most entertaining of natural spectacles, especially for a girl who’d been raised in a Goddess’ magical woodland.
Natural footpaths worn into the terrain by many hooves eventually led her east, where the earth seemed to gently slope upwards, until it came to an abrupt end. The similarities to her home in the Edge, and the sound of the sea, immediately fill her with a nostalgia that causes her eyes to burn with unshed, emotional tears, and she stops to survey her surroundings.
Though her initial impulse had been to go to the edge of the earth, and to ease herself into the gentle sight and sound of the rhythmic tide kissing the shore, a tall tower rises from the center of field in which she stands, and her attention focuses in on it, and cannot be severed from then on. With ears lifted and eager steps, she makes her way towards it, having never seen any structure other than the Rotunda or the greenhouse. In comparison to the tall, seemingly timeless tower before her, they were quite punitive in comparison. How had horses even made this? She wonders. Or had it been something else?
Dragons? She thinks, remembering Tandavi's stories of Mirage with a bittersweet smile, and a deeply painful throb in the depths her heart. Pulling her mind out of the past, she instead refocuses her thoughts on the peculiar, but amazing, building before her.
The size of the doors and windows are perhaps what impress her the most, when she does make it there, or perhaps the fact that, though she sees no one immediately, here, more so than in the wide, rolling field she had just come from, there seems to be evidence of many people. Was this the Court that the really big boy had talked about? She wonders, peering up at the tall height of the amazing structure, debating whether or not she should walk in.
[ OOC: Hope you don't mind <3 excited to get this ball rollin' ~ ]
The morning sun had just started to ride, its bright colorful rays peeking over the horizon. Colors of orange, pink, and purples spread across the clouds, a perfect painting in the sky. The wind picked and pulled at everything it could touch, including the matted, silvery hair of the stocky stallion standing on the beach. His hair tugged at his neck, whipping at his face before pulling clear of his features. He stood with his hooves pressed into the rocky sand, the cold water lapping at his legs. The scent of salt and brine filled his nostrils, the sound of crashing waves filled his ears. Although Hugan had been grounded since his wreck, he had always been a sea man. His old clan was one of vikings; the sea being their partner. It provided travel, food, and play. He did not fear the water as it rolled threatening before him, but he respected it. He knew, all it took was catching her in a bad mood, and his life could end in a watery grave.
Since coming to these new lands, Hugan found himself seeking out the sea. It was a place of comfort, a place of rest. He loved the feel of the cold, salty ocean mixing with his striped coat. He loved watching the crashing waves and listening to their roar. His head dipped down as he let out a soft breath, his eyes closing momentarily as he remembered his old friend from his days as an ambassador. Oblaur had known the dangers of the sea more than Hugan, yet he had paid for it. The bird skull pierced into the unicorn's ear, the ache in his jaw from artificial teeth, the eye he could no longer see from.. all reminded him of that every day.
However, Hugan was not one to dwell on the past. What was done was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. Squinting against the bright sun, he rose his head once more, flicking his head as his forelock slapped across his face. His long horn seemed to glow in the rising light, the emerald carved eyes gleaming against the obsidian backdrop.
It was then that he heard sand shifting behind him, his ears shifting back, but body still as the waves continued to play at his hooves.
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
The only favors she ever asks for are from Solis. Though perhaps more fickle than a mortal, she resents owing anything to someone who lacks the divine qualities of a god. So it's with reluctance that she travels to Terrastella, in search of the one they call Rannveig, sovereign of the Dusk Court. In her travels, especially here in the southeastern part of the continent, she'd heard whispers on the wind that the new queen was a gifted healer. With the injuries she had sustained against the Elder Teryr, Inkheart has found herself in desperate need of healing, especially for her fractured bone.
And so, she hobbles into the Dusk Court, wings assisting her progress. She had flown most of the way from the Day Court after the latest herd meeting, after the beast's defeat. Though Solis is capable of many things, this she knows, she doubts he is willing to come down and fix her himself. A mere mortal. No, best to seek out the wisdom of those earthbound creatures. She tries to move softly, to avoid drawing attention to herself. Normally she wouldn't mind crossing the boundaries of the other courts, caring not for laws that were really there to bind the... uncivilized sort. But in her current state, if anyone takes offense to her presence, she may not be able to easily defend herself.
One thing that comforts her, however, is the thought that she might chance upon that gray beast, Morozko. She remembers it so well, their night together. The fire in her blood, the lust in her eyes. The flirting had been almost immediate, the descent into madness quick to follow. She had thought she might have become pregnant, but to her relief, she was without child. Still, seeing him again (tasting him again?) would not be unpleasant.
Dusted with star matter and borne upon tides of nature, hers is the beauty of wild places.
Despite the stifling heat beneath Solis' suffocating eye, Eden refused to labor beneath the moon lest Denocte see the weaknesses of Solterra and relay it to her shadowy followers. So as the sun rose upon it's burning blue pedestal, the striped mare worked and struggled and bled and sweated upon the sandstone floor. After so many years of neglect and abandonment, the inner courtyard of the Sunhall was a mess of stubborn weeds and half collapsed buildings. So far, Eden had cleared the debris from within the old smithy, taking rusty bits of metal and armor and piling them alongside a rickety woodshed to hopefully be refurbished.
Now, as she strained and shoved against the weight of a rather large sandstone boulder - How the hell did this thing get here? - that had been blocking the back doorway of the smithy, Eden wondered if she was going to be the only one to clean up the Day Court's home. It wasn't as if it was too much of an issue to the lass, for she was no stranger to hard work, but the process could go so much quicker if her fellow followers of Solis were to assist in the rebuilding of their city. A garrison full of warriors was no good if there were no crops to feed them and no weapons to arm them with.
"Just so," mumbled the girl through the sweat that caked her sides and the exhaustion that hounded her heels, "If it is only me, then I best work harder."
Short post but @Maxence @Leviathan and anyone else who wants to help clear up the inner courtyard of the keep IC~
Dawn Court held many things, but sometimes... one needed a break. Ptolema found herself in the Eluetheria Plain, as she had many times before, grasses attempting to tickle through thick feathering on her legs, catching and pulling on the hairs gently. The large mare made her way through the thickest parts of it, feeling tall grass on her belly (unusual, considering her height), before she finally came to a stop near a bubbling stream. It wasn't that fast, or deep, and she stepped forward slowly, mostly to submerge her hooves in it and duck her head, allowing her lips to touch the moving surface and smiling against the cool liquid.
Her reflection looked back at her, the soft bumps on her nose and the mess of her mane wild around her head. She looked tired, but she also felt tired; it had been a tough day when she had helped a sick patient earlier. They had rested well though, once she had finished helping, and she had sighed and made her way here. Pregnancy was common for her to see where one would be sick, it came with it. She couldn't help but suddenly frown a little to herself at the thought, orange eyes closing as she drew her head up, and absently lifted a hind leg to scratch at her belly.
She could never conceive, herself. Cursed in the wrong body at birth, it was something she constantly seemed to fight with. Some days she was happy, others... well. Other days reminded her how she had been born, and she loathed it.
Shaking her head, she dropped her hind leg with a splash, huffing out instead and trudging a little further up the stream, to a deeper part. That didn't matter. It didn't matter if she would never carry a foal herself, she could still help raise them and help them grow. Help the orphaned ones toughen up a little and dote on them when they were sleepy.
She was fine the way she was. She would change for no one.
Dawn broke slowly that morning after the storm, the reaching tendrils of gray light almost tentative as they tried to penetrate the dense cover of fast moving clouds that coated the sky. The cliffs were still slick and wet from the heavy rains that had fallen and on the rocky beaches all manner of trash had piled up, hurled ashore by the fury of ocean and sky and left to dry in the strong wind that still blew hard from the southeast. It chased waves in towards land, waves as tall as a standing bear, and taller still, hurtling in to smash against the rock-face with a force that caused the very ground to tremble and added new material to the rough gravel that coated the shore wherever the cliffs receded.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly as light spread and darkness receded, the ferocity of the surge diminished. The tide was turning, soon it would have receded far enough that otherwise submerged rocks and crannies were thrust up out of the sea and thus exposed all manner of strange and uncanny creatures in the shallow tide-pools. As the steely color of the clouds to the east continued to brighten, animals stirred. The cliffs that had once seemed so barren now teemed with life as gulls fought over rotten fish and crabs with menacing claws battled for their lives against a curious red fox that had left the fields to partake in the feast nature had provided.
The crab won; discouraged the fox moved off and followed the steep shore in search of a breakfast that was both more filling and less demanding. On the rocks above a sheltered cove it stopped and peered down at a pile of assorted rubble below, a sand-covered mound of broken wood, kelp and stinking refuse. The canine's keen yellow eyes searched for signs of danger for a time; then it began to work its way down to the water-line.
Halfway there, a sound caused the fox to flinch and stop in mid stride, tension rippling through its supple body as it listened intently. There it was again; a sound that did not belong on this solitary stretch of rock overlooking the sea. It was not the chattering sound of barking sea-otters or the dull smack of fighting seals, nor was it caused by any bird or beast of the sea-shore. Again it was heard, this time followed by motion as the pile of rubble suddenly heaved and moved. And now the fox saw that it was not a pile at all, but a horse; big and sand colored with sea-weed and kelp tangled all through the dark hair and long legs until hardly any of the body remained visible while it lay still. But it was moving now, kicking feebly with dangerously hard hooves and letting out that weary, hollow noise again, a groan torn from a throat that must be all but shredded by salt and fear during the struggles of the night.
Realizing that there would be no easy breakfast to be had from the unconscious beast, the fox turned and left, loping easily back up the same way it had come. Only once did it pause to look back upon that tangled, flailing heap, and saw that it had gone still and quiet again; another salt-crusted victim of the ocean's reckless temper, no doubt, but too large for the fox to eat. It moved on, not caring that the sand-colored equine was slipping back down into deep, dark unconsciousness, a dangerous sleep from which it might never wake; not if it didn't move before the tide came back in to reclaim its slippery, water-logged domain.
Time was running out, but Finnian knew nothing about that where he lay, with blood from a re-opened wound above the eye trickling steadily down over his face. He could die there, and he'd be none the wiser about it, would never know as he slipped from one oblivion to the next.
It was not the kind of fate he would have envisioned for himself.
In every tyrant a tear for the vulnerable In every lost soul the bones of a miracle
It’s a long journey to make, from the meadows of the Dusk Court to the lake that Camdis Lohir had told him of.
Not for the first time, Charlemagne wishes for wings; how easy it would be, to dive among the clouds and soar over the peaks. There would be no world closed off to him. Even the desert would be escapable in a few wingbeats with a favorable wind, and what could Bexley threaten him with then? Wings were freedom, but the unicorn had only his feet.
Those, at least, were less clumsy than they had been at home. His time here had changed him, made him stronger in the places that had once just been lean. The scorched places on his coat and tail where the maze’s wyvern had caught him were almost indistinguishable from the rest of him, now, though the shaman still dogged his dreams with his laughter like the closing of a crypt.
There was another wiseman he wished to see, one who had been far kinder.
He isn’t sure how many days have passed by the time he finally spots the lake ahead, calm and bright as a mirror. It’s another hour or two by the time he finally reaches it, the pebbles on the shore crunching beneath his hooves, and the long summer day is giving way to evening as he stands and stares out across the glasslike expanse. It is so very different than the sea, and perhaps this shouldn’t give him comfort, but it does. It is peace he seeks, after all, not the feral beauty of the crashing waves.
“It is called the Vitreus and it is something out of the heavens. I will find you there and we can talk more of what you wish to be, my boy.” The words are as clear in his mind as the words of the Shaman - Wrong, in that papery voice of a skull - and Charlemagne cannot quite suppress the hope that rises in him as he watches the reflection of the clouds drift by in the surface of the water.
All there was now was to wait, and rest, and hope, and so the young unicorn dozes off, like a sentinel on the shore who can’t quite manage his job.
The weather, luckily, was foul on that particular day. Maxence had grown so tired of the relentless sun and just one drop of rain or a single cloud in the sky would do them all good - finally that one day came in the shape of a summer storm on the coast. Spectacular from a distance, but only at a distance. The raindrops came and went, the skys only ever parting for a few seconds at a time to reveal gaps of sunlight in the overwise darkened day. The canyon was silent with not even a single crow out to feast on the impressive carrion the Solterran's had left for them, but such was the way of the weather.
The smell was nothing Maxence had not smelt before, that was for sure, though still he approached the rotting carcass with scrunches nostrils and creased eyelids; a crooked, twisted grimace. Hopefully Leviathan would arrive soon as requested; he'd hate to do this task alone.
Maxence had planned to leave most of the skeleton here intact for the years to come. What better warning for an intruder than a giant Teryr skeleton? It also proved that solterran's could and would do just about anything if they simply wanted to. They didn't even have to kill this beast, and yet they did.
What they would scavenge was another subject entirely. The claws, teeth and feathers he aimed to take for trophies, and if it could be done, he also wished to salvage the skin for armour or leather. It seemed the beast had near-impenetrable skin - a Teryr hide armor would be better than any plate and feather light no doubt.
