It had been 3 days, 7 hours and 42 minutes since Lumaris’ magic went cold and each painful second dragged on like hours. Night had fallen swift and sure not all that long ago, the red sunset bleeding into the twilight blue; it was during the nights that the antlered stag felt mortality the most. No longer did his enlarged audits pick up every sound that sliced the silence of the dark, instead they were limited by temporal ability, his sight bound by normal vision. Lumaris felt clumsy and slow despite the fact that to the untrained eye he would seem graceful and elegant in his movements. To him however his muscular form moved with a painful lack of speed and this feeling of weakness seemed to take over him.
The first day had been the worst; Lumaris had been exhausted, crippled by the sudden disappearance of his magic and abandoned by powers that once commanded him. Now he just felt ill and vulnerable, something that was making him extra cold.
On through the night his strong pillars dragged him, the breeze playing softly through his deep blue locks. Mountains rose tall and proud around him, the air frigid and cold giving him more reason to miss the fire that ordinarily lived in his heart. A steep incline had picked up as the encirclement of rocky peaks became a wall, forcing him to go up or go back. That had been a day ago. Now the gold-antlered stallion found himself at the base of the mountains limbs like lead from the constant climbing and descending. Before the blue steed lay a lake surrounded by emerald green shores. The waters were peaceful, still, even in the night time breeze. In the dark the stars were reflected brightly upon the calm surface, a pretty sight most would admit. But that night its beauty was lost on Lumaris for other thoughts and worries plagued his mind- not that you could guess from the stony expression upon his otherwise handsome face. Since the pass through the mountains Lumaris couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, that this land belonged to another and he was trespassing. The air heavy with the scents of others confirmed his suspicions but it did not phase him. He was but a wanderer, a deserter, they would not know of him or his deeds, nor hopefully would they attack him. In the past Lumaris could be assured he would prevail for thousands of times before he had taken on multiple assailants and won. Now however, without his Fae speed, his Elven strength or his powerful magic he could not be so sure.
a heart of fire and a mind of ice
@Reichenbach hoping its ok that I went ahead and made a thread ^^'
Heat drove him north, seeking relief further into the mountains than he would normally roam. Even in the relatively temperate parts of his new home, the summer seemed to him a physical thing — a beast with a weight to it, a heat that pushed down on him. His blood felt thick, his lungs full, his head slow - surely that was why he’d accepted Rannveig’s proposal that he act as Warden. Had he been in his right mind, he would have said no.
He should have said no. That became clearer to him with each yard he picked his way into the pass. He’d come to keep an eye on her, not to serve her or the will of her new goddess. And Silrus and Aecanos - what would they think, to hear he’d abandoned Glacies to take up the cause of Vespera? Morozko had been no saint (had not, truth be told, been particularly devout at all), but he would not so easily worship another. Rannveig had his loyalty. As for the rest of it…
The unicorn snorted, pushing the thoughts away. But they were no flies, to be so easily thwarted; like wolves in winter they would worry at him until he had an answer. For now he could only find solace in his climb, in the careful placement of each hoof, in the blessedly cold breeze that rushed down at him from on top of the mountain, tousling his slowly lengthening mane and whispering savage things in his ear.
Morozko was not sure where he was going - just that he wanted to be far enough to think with a clear head.
His first thought when he saw the stallion was that he had climbed too high, where the air was too thin. Surely that was the only explanation for the figure before him: dark as pitch, a shadow among the shadows of the mountainside, with a muzzle red as blood and his wings a great penumbra.
His second thought was that Heimsterra had sent him - sent him to check up on Morozko. To make sure he was doing his duty. It stirred guilt low in his belly, guilt and a kind of distant anger at his own brittle honor, and the dappled stallion pressed forward up the trail until he stood before the man. For a long moment he was silent, lips pressed in a firm line even as he nodded, horn dropping in a gesture of greeting and respect. The wind was stronger, here toward the top; it wasn’t far from a howl. Over it, Morozko spoke. “Polunin. What brings you so far from home?”
How long has she wandered Solterra like a shut-in, lazy in the heat, sun-blind and proud? The summer has made her complacent, overly happy, overly pleased. Bexley is ashamed of herself for being so easily gratified; it is as if she’s lost her edge, her bitterness, her bloodlust, and without that she is nothing more than a puppet, gluttonous and overconfident. It turns her back into the girl of her childhood, and Solis help anyone who has to deal with that, especially Bexley herself. The only way to remedy this is a reality check. A dip in cold water. And so Herculean effort she’s left the dreamy desert to visit her old friend Reichenbach, and this is how she finds herself at the Night Court’s border with her legs aching and brain turned to mush, startled and electrified by the world that now surrounds her.
It smells of jasmine and smoke, leftover bonfires, dew still bristling over the grass on cold mornings; Bexley enters with a timid step, awed by the strangeness of the walls that touch the sky just ahead of her, time-worn walls cut in some places by windows and dull torchlight, with flickering shadows and silhouettes visible through doorways and arches. Her hooves click-click-click on the floor as she moves, a leisurely exploration of the oppressive hallways and many empty rooms. It’s so dark. She should have expected that, and she did, kind of, but no thought could have prepared her for the absolute lack of light, windows blacked out, ceilings double-shut, only the weak wash of fire in sconces lighting her steps.
No one comments on the smell of rose and sunlight that follows her, the fact that her skin practically glows in this darkness; the unfamiliar faces merely pass in a whoosh of motion and are gone again, leaving strange scents behind them, the clinking of jewelry, whorls of hair that are the last thing to disappear around the corners. They must notice her, yet they pass suspicious looks and deign to say nothing.Mystified by her new anonymity, Bexley comes to a slow stop in one of the bigger rooms and calls out, Reich?, hoping the court is small enough that he’ll somehow find her.
Hello, your Majesty, there’s a girl here, different from the rest of us, stranger and sunnier, and she has a golden necklace… Yeah, he’ll find her.
Battle Type: BATTLE Prize: Bragging rights and XP!
Character #1:Maxence Bonded: nay Magic: nu Armor: nah Weapons: A Bullwhip.
Character #2:AVDOTYA Bonded: nah Magic: Earth Armor: Nupe Weapons: A spear.
MAXENCE
LOOKING UP FOR HEAVEN
While some preferred to spend summer days soaking in any ounce of shade they could find, Maxence had sought to journey south on the heated wind currents until they might place him in the battlefields of the Bellum Steppe. Upon his departure he had called out to any in the Day Court fortress who might be listening and alerted them of where he was headed and when he expected to return as routine demanded. As sovereign he would never leave his people abandoned, not even for an hour or two. At all times he would allow them the peace of mind that he could be reached should something turn awry. "I am headed to the Steppe to train! Anyone is welcome to join me." the King had called back to the fortifications as his wings took him skyward, knees pointed toward the sun. Perhaps secretly he wished one of the warriors might follow - training with his comrades, teaching and learning from them had always been one of Maxence's most beloved past times. He was certainly not one to ever stand still, so time spent in sport with his brothers was always greatly cherished (and now terribly missed).
It still came in dull aches when he remembered what had been, as icy cramps in his heart, a hiraeth for what should still be.
Novus was a continent that was still completely rogue and unfamiliar to him, though still the stag roughly knew the way to the Bellum Steppe - or rather, what it looked like from above when he got there. In the shadow of Veneror he had sailed, a mere ornament in the peachy morning sky that was made all the more beautiful by a passing flock of wetland birds taking a similar path past the mountain over the thin, diaphanous clouds. Below him the valleys were visible through the most pale puffs of cloud, and still he loved to observe how the desert became fields and the fields became forest, foothills and mountain. It was a view he thanked Solis for immediately, his oceanic eyes closing momentarily as he sighed a content breath of blissfulness. Though still, he knew reality waited beneath the cloud cover.
Angling his wings and leaning down against the current, Maxence was soon to aim his landing for the highlands. The sea of grass was easily picked from above and impossible to miss given it's giant expanse. In no time the sovereign had touched down upon the endless fields, his feet landing one after the other while his wings bent each blade of grass with a mighty SWOOSH. An ideal training ground if ever he'd seen one, though so far from Solterra.
Unfastening his bullwhip from it's strapping upon his harness, Maxence was soon to crane his nose over the great expanse of grass and shrub. There might be one or two to challenge for a spar our here, though truly Maxence wished to spar one of his own. Turning his nose over his shoulder in the direction of home, he hoped at least one had followed...
Summary: Maxence flys to the steppe and waits for an opponent (Avdotya can attack first!)
When she had come here, it had been to the Dusk Court she had given her name – all for the one she had seen long ago, best them all in her path. The daughter of the Sovereigns of the Winter Court.
Rannveig.
The world had whispered and she answered, and took the path from the sea to the very court. Along the path she walks, until she came to the land of the Dusk. She knew it was, and before them all she had proclaimed herself a warrior for them, a fighter, one to protect the Court. Fighting had always been a part of her life, from when she was a youngster to her being forced from home to wander. It had been a necessity for her survival, true enough, but one she had come to appreciate.
Coming here only seemed logical to her. She may not look like quite the fighter, but beneath her shimmering exterior her skin was laced with scarring, the most recent across her shoulder and she could even be seen favouring a limb ever so slightly.
She had not let the old injury stop her at any point in time, nor would she now. It was well and truly healed, by those who had been wondrous at it, and she had found this place in the wanderlust in her veins.
She comes to the Dusk Court and stops here. Her blue eyes look out and around, taking in all the new sights, inhaling and picking up new scents and hearing sounds familiar but different… and all the while, she knew this was the very region she’d come to give herself to and become a part of… even if for only a segment of her lifetime.
After all, what is life without meeting others along the way.
Wandering had always been her strong suit, ever since her mother had cast her out, all in the name of protecting her. Last she’d heard, Viserion had been consumed by the demon land, and she was left forever without the knowledge of who her sire was, and if there was any of her family left on the outside. Wandering became her day by day, and it was through the endless wandering that she learned the singular trick of the trade needed to keep her alive – how to fight and defend herself, and nothing more. Social skills are not so good or easy to learn but she’d known enough.
There had been a small length of time she’d spent, not so long ago, after she’d healed in a Court of the Winter, paying back her debt to them by lending herself to them. After she had left, it was more wanderlust in her veins that had brought her here.
Here to where she stood on the shores of the tumultuous ocean before her, with angry waves rising that lashed the shoreline, carving the rock over the millennia.
Before the roiling water she stood, looking out across it. The sky was darkened by cloud, and there was a heavy feeling in the air, salt burning her nostrils but she welcomed the feeling. Anything to feel alive and a part of the world, she was content to keep.
She remains here, eyes closing as she drinks in the sounds and scents – and for a moment, the first time since she’d heard, she grieves for her mother.
Note: anyone is welcome, shes just come here... and I'm getting used to things :D
"Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls."
- - -
The court walls are beginning to drive him insane. He's walked them time and time again, some nagging thing driving him to map each stone in his mind. As though there is some clue in their construction, some secret message left by the builders, waiting to be found. It is not the first time something like this has happened- he often feels that there is a veil between him and the reality of things. He reaches out but can never push it aside, never see what lies beyond or even know for sure that it is there. It is just a feeling, but he cannot let go of it. He is stubborn as a child in that way.
He planned to spend the day at the coast, to wash his body in the ocean. But instead he pushed rocks around to make an arena. It was grueling work, but satisfying. Eik is smaller than most of his clansmen, and without the gift of wings or magic or companion to help. But he is strong and determined, and worked without complaint. He started before the sunrise, before the brutal heat kicked into full force, and worked until his legs were shaking and the sun was setting, stopping only for a few hours during the peak of the day.
And then, despite his body's protests, he began to walk. He could have waited til the morning, or until his aches faded in a few days, but the ocean had been calling to him all day and he could not deny it any longer. When an idea entered his mind he had to see it to its conclusion. Besides, the moon was full, a good omen. And good for traveling- with it he would not be alone, and it would not be dark.
He follows his feet and his intuition and the vague directions a stranger gave him. He is not afraid of trespassing on foreign lands or encountering some strange beast. Perhaps this is foolhardy. He does not ponder it.
He reaches the beach as the sun begins to rise, the sky blossoming a hundred shades of crimson, orange, and royal purple as the velvet curtain rises. The moon and stars weaken with the strength of the sun, and he finds himself a little sad to see them go. The feeling is dismissed soon after he recognizes it. They will be back the next night, and the following, the celestial dance continuing long after his bones have crumbled to dust.
Though the view is stunning, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. There is nothing like the scent of the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing is hypnotic and he feels a deep, heavy relaxation creep over him. The exertion of yesterday's labor and last night's travels hit him now, and he is keenly aware of the ache that blooms across his body. He imagines himself sinking into the sand, and then deeper still into the earth, back in time through millennia of rock. And realizes slowly the ache is inside of him as well, deep down in a place of himself he did not know was there.
He opens his eyes, mind elsewhere and feeling as wide as the ocean before him.
- - -
E I K
;;Eik walks all night to get here and half dozes/ponders as the sun rises. Anyone is welcome to join him!
Another blessed evening melting away, one goddess stepping to the side to allow another to take her place in the sky. Night spilled across the expanse, all deep purples and fading blues and tangerine as the world slowly fell asleep. In all of her wanderings and lonely adventures, coming here, to the Evening Court of dusk, had quickly become one of her favorites. There was something magical about the special time of day when the colors began to fade and the living creatures of the world slowly drifted into a sweet slumber. A hush of breath, a soft lullaby, and the music of Night lulling the sun to sink below the horizon; a wheel, a circle, that ever repeated as each day was born again anew.
She had wandered yet again, taking another day to drift and be alone with herself. It wasn't as if she despised being at Court; far from the truth, actually. She had grown to love her new life, enjoying the bliss and passionate reverie that was the way Denoctians thrived. But it was the gypsy-hearted soul in her that had her restless, her blood boiling and muscles aching to move, to explore. Guilt racked at her as if she was being weighed down with stones; her desire to adventure an almost insatiable beast she couldn't even begin to tame.
This night, Aislinn found herself in the heart of a sea of greenery, wide open fields on all sides of her as far as the eye could see. She laid in the plaited grass with her legs carefully tucked, her crown tilted back so she could watch the stars. Maybe, just maybe, she will witness a falling streak of light across the sky.. only to make a wish, manifesting her dreams into reality.
Dusk had left the sky, fading rapidly as the heady air became ever darker, the sky turning inky and star-filled. Raucous sounds filled the air: laughter, singing, the thud of hooves as Denoctians danced through flame and shadow underneath Calligo's joyous gaze. Reichenbach stood in the market square - had done so for quite some time, watching the dusk fade slowly, slowly. It was time to call the rest of the Court together, to announce whom had already taken up the positions in their court and to announce who would be filling the remaining slots.
Watching the dancing torches that surrounded the square, Reichenbach considered leaving the meeting for another night, then looked to the diverse mix of faces that cavorted past. The sooner the court was complete, the safer they would be. While Reichenbach had met with both Dusk and Dawn and found both Sovereigns agreeable (and delightful), he had yet to officially meet with Maxence. They'd fought, yes. Reichenbach had emerged the victor - and no doubt that would not sit easily upon the soldier-King's shoulders. Lothaire was there now, speaking with the Solterran's, learning what he could to aid in his position as Emissary.
There was no court more different to Night than Day. Denoctians as a stereotype were a diverse people, coming from all walks of life with varying opinions and skills. They danced and they fought, they sang and they learned. Solterra as a stereotype was filled with military, harsh souls that felt more comfortable killing than singing. There were exceptions to the rule - he'd met some himself - but overall, the two courts could not have clashed more. So it was concern for his people that led Reichenbach to announce a summons, roaring out a call that echoed once, twice, three times throughout Denocte. For those that would not hear the call, the Crows would find.
Court meeting! Attendance is not mandatory, but if your character wants to "be in the know" I suggest attending! Tagging the current Court of Dreams & a few others!
@Camdis @Lothaire (or Loth can still be in Solterra, your choice) @Rostislav @Araxes @Aislinn @Judal @Hugan @Dvalinn @Polunin
Character #1:ARION Bonded: NONE Magic: NONE Armor: NONE. HAS A HEAVY FUR MANTLE OVER SHOULDER AREA Weapons: NONE
Character #2:AION Bonded: NONE Magic: NONE Armor: NONE Weapons: NONE
The earth was barren, beaten, torn. It was a place that was marked, scribed with a story to share, an artefact that bore a history and lore. Perhaps it was a place seeped in the old magic, malevolent in its manipulation, its edges marked in the old runes, the songs of witches and mages. From the moment he had stepped upon the soil, the plateau pale in the silver lunar light, Arion had found the steel within his spine tensing, the acuity of his senses widening. There was something wrong here, there was something dark in the air that drove madness into even the most gentle of spirits. A witching circle. Anger, lust, yearning, it collided here in a thread of barbed wire, twisting around their naive limbs, seeping like a sickness of the mind, a manic state driven ever more fevered the longer one dared to remain. Easier to manipulate, easier to push into a state of violence. Even in the silence, he could taste the blood, the pheramones, the fading evidence of those who had come before and fell into the temptation of this unholy plain. The stomping grounds of war, the field tasted and addicted to the spilt equine blood, fermented like fine wine within their mortal vessels.
Perhaps it was the wrong choice, to continue deeper into the halls, gilded grass of polished gold twining amongst his legs with each stride, the heavy press of charcoal and ivory silk sliding across the fragile blades. Some would call it a mercy, to contain the vile depths of instinct to one place, this place that told the true history of the great courts; the rise and fall of kings, the rise and fall of nations. And yet, even the most innate of beings, without a drop of liquid power within their veins could feel the emotions that remained, the phantom imprints of their masters anguish. A place of horrors built ever more saturated with each passing year. One day, one day he would gather with the rest of his kin to witness yet another tribute to the old ways, this place where all four divine combined, this place where their whispers clashed and faded like waves upon the ears, tempting and seducing. Had his sense remained, had his intellect endured this siege upon his mind, perhaps he would never have stepped foot upon the soil, continued where the warnings sung against his sides.
He continued forward, each foot dragging through the parched earth, dust and grit of its skeletal bones painting his legs an ashen dye. Each breath came heavy, each a collision of colossal entities. Arion wondered what had stood here in the times before, what fossil laid buried amongst the dirt that continued to sing even today, drawing them like masses to the water. The one true cure to their cruelty. There was a lonesome beauty amongst the mists, a fine layer of gauze that never seemed to abandon the knolls, taking what little he could see. The sphere of vision was limited, the smells amplified by the moisture in the air, and yet he continued forward. There was no turning back now, moments passing to hours as he wandered aimlessly through this corridor. The earth-song of his blood, the intuition of a craftsman cooed in the flavor of the soil, the promise of metals just beneath the surface should he begin to dig. A mere pewter coin perhaps, or a delightful gleam of gold. He didn't stop to taste the cloven split of his hooves cutting crescent moons into the earth. Above, the moon shone brightly a disk of brilliance chained while her most beloved creation was left to his own devices.
SPEAK | THOUGHT
Summary: ARION HAS JUST ENTERED THE BELLUM STEPPE AND IS WANDERING ACROSS THE FLATLANDS
![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png)
