Light had soon been devoured by darkness, the sun taken over by the dull light of the moon. Stars sparkled behind gaps in the clouds, a cool breeze drifting through the lands. The grass at the stallion's hooves shuffled as he made his way through it, his heavy, matted tail dragging along behind him. From his forehead, protruded a large horn, its surface black as coal, but its core green as springtime. Intricately carved eyes stared before the stallion, giving off a soft glow from the bright moon overhead, as if they were keeping watch on the road ahead for him.
As Hugan certainly was not.
Every step of the way, the stallion had his good eye peeking over his shoulder; at every rustle in the grass or flap of a bird's feather. He was new to these lands and it obviously showed. Despite him having met a few others in passing and his court chosen, the once-was wanderer did not feel entirely safe in the darkness of the new land. When do you ever feel safe? He mused to himself, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips at the thought, one of his golden teeth showing through a parted maw.
It was true, the ex ambassador never did feel safe. There were times that he longed to be a child again; not a care in the world and his clan to keep him safe. Sure, his father had taught him how to fight, how to defend himself, but he had convinced himself it would not be needed.. Well if his time alone had taught him anything, it was that anything could happen at any time.. and if one was not prepared..
He stopped as a shadow fell over him, his thoughts pulled back into reality as he glanced up at what so dared to block what little light he had. Before him stood a castle larger than he had seen in a while. Its worn stone and brick showed years of wear, but it still stood tall and strong against the elements. Something about it reminded him of home, but he was quick to remove such thoughts from his mind.
Perhaps this was the hub of his court, the place he had been told about from those passing by. His shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh before he placed an emerald hoof before an ebony; he had might as well check it out now that he was here.
413 | @Reichenbach
I apologize for my rusty writing, i just need some time to get used to him :'D
The past was a living, breathing monster, a thief in the night, bedding with the horrors that consumed the mind, the mad desires that ruined the soul, and the phantom pains that warred against the body. How long had the past clung on, long after the trials it had given him faded like dust in a fading field, life taken, and given, with the ease of an uncaring custodian? He could still remember the agony of the leather whip searing like a hot rod against his flesh, could still taste the iron in his mouth, blood pooling against his tongue when he dared not cry out. Could still feel the cold of his body, laying there in the rain drenched earth, its humid, sweltering touch seeping against his sides, a slug in his nose that threatened to suffocate him right there where he was fated to perish. That night, that moment in time when he had finally given up, finally broke down, repeated itself like a never ending mockery, a memory to last a lifetime, whispering that he had failed. It was those monsters that never went away; self-doubt, self-disgust, self-fear. To possibility that the damage that lingered just beneath the surface was to great an endeavor to take on, and the truth of the matter was that at times, he didn't even want to try.
Some may call him weak, and perhaps they were right, but the trauma of the past was a sickly wound that had been left to fester, and with the promise of treatment, there was no end in sight as to whether it would ever look anew. Perhaps that was to be his fate, to lay consumed in the memories until they were all he ever was, fixated and vengeful in the hate that ruled his very mind. How true that thought was, his expression bitter as iron cold eyes gazed out over the vistas, the mists rising like a living sea in the valleys of stone. Whenever he remembered the past, it made him sad, made his strength falter, only to bleed into a rage that festered on the ugly taint of self-hatred. He neither loved nor forgave himself, ruled by the memories, fractured as they were, of grand warriors that was meant to be his fate. An Arnor who had knelt where none had done so before. He could not bare to return to them, couldn't even if he had wanted to, and perhaps that was the most bitter thing that lived in his uncertainty. He could not remember the way.
It both broke his heart and gave relief to his being to know he would never walk those fantasy halls, those places made of gilded starlight and silver glass that lived on immortal in his very being. The Arnor plains were a simple place, free of the complexities of the world beyond, remained untarnished as the memories fell away like water escaping his grasp. Judal had accepted this new reality he led, even as he attempted to give up on the past. She had pleaded him to do so, had raged and struck against him even when his mind was black with the ghouls of the past. He could not move on, could not live if he didn't let it go. And so he tried, he tried so hard, and failed every time. Incapable of looking upon her, for surely she would know, he came to these steep cliffs every time, gazing out across the realm of Night, watching as the color was leeched from this beautiful, blessedly ignorant place. Watched at the moon rose and set white fire into everything. Even the most simple of forest realm made a dream in the light of her radiance, and his darkness. It was never enough, but it was enough to soothe the most persisting of thoughts. As all Arnor did, he gravitated to the mountain holds, feeling the sharp stone beneath his hooves, the strain in his legs as he dared to climb higher, higher still, cloven hooves cutting into the rocky soil. The exersion was exhilarating, as the air thinned and his mind calmed, taken away from the sounds and scents of the masses gathered in the court of night. They were not his kin; this was not his home, and yet, there were times he wished it was, that he could be a product of this easy life they lived, with simple conflicts and harsh politics. And that was perhaps the reason why he hated them the most. "Speech."
The sun, and the twittering of birds, drew her citrine eyes to look upon the world she now found herself in.
At first, and even after she rolls to her belly, her forelegs crooked upwards before her and ginger muzzle sweeping this way, and that, the girl believes she is dreaming. The horrible, eternal rain that falls at the fringes of her fuzzy memory is no more, and there are no cryptically bent and slimy trees alive with glowing eyes, either. All around her is an endless sea of emerald grass, and it is dappled all about by the silhouettes of strangers that are neither glowing or malevolent. No fog rolls over the earth, only the golden sunlight, and the wind that gently tousles through the heady air is clean and whimsical.
Surely, she was still asleep. Yet, who was she to deny a pleasant dream, when her world had become a nightmare? She tells herself, and rises to her hooves, shaking her body to rid it of the clinging grass and wandering insects who had inched across her dozing form. Instinctually, she reaches over her shoulder to put her cloak back in place – but it is not there.
Even if this was a dream, her heart drops to her belly regardless, and tears well in her eyes at the loss of her cloak. Trying her best to console herself that, when she awoke, all would be well, the maiden sniffles before rubbing her tears away on a knee, and heading out across the rolling expanse of grass, her antlered head held high, and pale green eyes looking all about her at the prettiness of this world.
It’s not until a hole snags her unwitting hoof and her ankle is roughly wrenched in the process that the girl realizes she’s not dreaming at all. Suddenly horrified in all the ways she had been aloof but moments before, her happy smile falls away for the crestfallen, open mouthed expression of one who hasn’t a clue what is going on, but for the truth she hasn’t a clue where she is.
“Not again,” tearfully warbles the ginger and cream darling, looking down at her hooves in utter dismay.
[ OOC: anyone is welcome :D ]
If you’re tossing & you’re turning,
& you just can’t fall asleep, I’ll sing a song beside you. and if you ever forget
how much you really mean to me, every day,
I will remind you.
Sand whirled around Lo's gigantic wings as he beat them against the hot earth, landing at last on Solterran ground. He hadn't meant to make such a grand entrance, but at his size and weight it was hard not to upon descent, no matter the location. Had it been cooler Lothaire would have most certainly embarked the journey on foot, as he most commonly did, for he was not an impatient man - in fact, patience was one of his most notable attributes. But he was certainly no fool: this weather was dangerously hot for someone with skin as thin as his own, and crossing such arid terrain would have been reckless. Lothaire did not consider himself to be reckless. So he had taken to the sky, a rare occurrence. It wasn't that he did not like flying - oh, he did - no, it was just too heady and utopian for his own good. Too long in the air and he might never come back down.
With a shake of his giant appendages, Lothaire exhaled deeply; taking in his new surroundings with that black bottomless gaze. It was quiet here, more so than he had expected - hot too, more so than he had expected also. But, then, he should have known better than to have expectations in the first place. Lo licked his lips, drinking in at last the sight of Day Court's great fortress. He stood at a comfortable distance: close enough that those within could see him, without assuming the worst. His first impressions were gathered slowly (a chemist in his lab), examining everything from the endless golden sand to the looming walls nearby. Dry, strong, unyielding. Knowing he had already ventured far further into Solterra than was probably welcome, Lo decided not to approach the castle but instead to await invitation - or refusal, whichever it may be. He blinked; once, twice, thrice. Silent and attentive as ever.
OOC: @avdotya swear we agreed to set up a thread yonks ago but i forgot haha, here is lo doing his first bit of emissary bizniz (@maxence and/or @Seraphina also welcome to join!! i want him to familiarise himself with the regime<3)
The water screamed at him with a mouth that he still did not recognise: gaping and torn. Desperate words written by the ancient river below became delirious and indistinguishable as they convulsed against jagged rocks and looming bank - but he leaned closer, one last attempt to decipher the river's message - it's plea assaulting his ears, for it had no choice but to wail. But like a foreigner caught in a land unknown, Lothaire shook his head in defeat. This was not the first time he had failed; for years after leaving his childhood home he had encountered rivulet after estuary- each one louder, more frantic, more hopeless than the last. For all he could see when looking down upon that white rush was a soul trapped within; her tears banging on the dark walls keeping her prisoner - and he had imagined all the ways she had fallen into captivity, all the dreams she had forsaken for the shackles at her throat.
Alas, he had no time to emancipate the chained: he was no saviour, no guardian angel. He was merely an observant to the horrors of this world; a mildly curious passerby. And so with a slow blink of his starless eyes Lothaire turned from the crying water, rolling his great shoulders in a shrug that was not in the slightest apologetic as he walked away from her screams. He had business in Dawn Court, and he intended to see to it. Since becoming Emissary of Night Court, Lothaire had been slow on the uptake of his duties, simply because the concept of duty itself was entirely alien to him. Responsibility had been poured like hot milk into his hands - hands that did not bear the roughhewn lines of experience - and it had taken him a moment to catch himself from dropping it. At first he had almost set it down, careful and cautious as always, but something in the darkness of his mind had whispered not to. Perhaps there was purpose yet.
And so here he was, venturing for the first time into the land of another Court to familiar himself with their regime and counsel. It was now his duty after all.
OOC: for @aion, and also @kasil if you'd like to join, no pressure but you're welcome to!
Summer had come quickly, the warmth and decadence of the season lightening Reichenbach's mood considerably. Not that he was ever in a bad mood when heading toward the peak - it was a pleasant change of pace, wandering Denocte as he collected flowers and honey for his tribute. It was that time of month: the time he visited Calligo and left her a star-spun tribute, murmuring his troubles and trials, his loves and losses. She always listened, was always patient despite her wildfire heart. He and Calligo shared many similarities so she understood when his emotions peaked, when they grew too much for him to handle, when he broke and lost control. It had been a while since the last time - he'd been metering out that internal turbulence through sparring, though he'd been close to losing control the last time he had been here.
Reichenbach swallowed, remembering the brush of feathers against his skin with a barely contained shiver. Atop the mountain it felt as if the whole world did not exist, only the memories of that world, the far away problems that meant nothing here. Sighing, the Sovereign of The Night Court lay his collection at Calligo's shadowy shrine, admiring the woven collection of plants, flowers and sweet honey as it was caressed by darkness. After a moment of consideration, he sank to his knees and then lay silently down beside the shrine, speaking in a low murmur to his Goddess, his Queen.
"Give me the strength not to chase her," he began gently, "The strength to watch over my people, to make the right choices for them and them alone. Let Araxes find joy in her new position, and Raglan the common sense to listen to Camdis. Bless your new countrymen and embrace them with your shadows and stars, for they are just as wild and lost as we."
The soft depth of his voice faltered as he concluded in a whisper;
"May you find happiness and comfort in your realm, sweet Calligo, and may we meet again."
ooc; worship thread but anyone is welcome to join!
She is something frail against the blue-black of the sky, a wraith that has returned to her homeland at long last, and yet where she should feel relief is instead the tumultous pain of uncertainty: how much has changed since Tirzah’s canary-bright hooves last crossed this border, and how much has really done its best to wait for her? In the frail cage of her chest a heart goes thump-thump with insistence that this is the right place for her, but it quakes. Shudders. Across a coat saturated in strange colors lays the glimmer of sweat, moonlit-silver as the day turns to night above her head. Tirzah inhales as deep as her lungs will let her, and in swirls the smell of her childhood, the rivers and the dry grass, the flowers, out of view, that still give off their lightly-purple smell, pollen drifting through the cool air to brush across her frame.
As she sways toward the inner circle of the court, feathers in bright colors sweep across her neck and those slender legs, and iron circle clinks against the shell of one ear, the anklets that bump against her joints let out the barest tinkle of sound, slipping against yellow skin as she moves. Tirzah is hard to ignore at the best of the times, and it’s even harder when she looks like this - a long-limbed shape all alone as she crosses the border, smelling of a far-away place, silver mane dripping to her knees, tail grating against the soft dust underneath her hooves. A freakish, exotic blast from the past. An abject stranger to any of the Dawn Court’s newer members. Little do they know her expertise on the area, the years she spent here as a child, the love she has given to Vespera since her birth.
Then comes the soft clink-clink of her hooves against stone. Tirzah weaves into the building with gentle steps and looks up at the dusty rafters, overwhelmed by nostalgia as she recalls her childhood, in awe of how quickly she is falling back into her old life, blue eyes warm with reverence. It is all quiet around her, but she doubts it will stay this way for long.
He was leaving Solterra until last - completely ready to soak up the warmth of that desert heat, to feel the scalding sun upon his mahogany skin and face the militaristic Maxence. They'd met before, of course, upon the battlefield where they had sparred as strangers. It was only after they had finished, sweaty and panting with neither victorious, that they had introduced themselves and begun talking. Maxence was a man that stood apart, unafraid and willing to take on the challenge of Solterra and it's court. He had a hefty challenge ahead of him, considering the stubborn and seasoned warriors that filled his desert home. The thought filled Reichenbach with a mischievous amusement, his lips stretched into a wry smile as he entered the realm of Delumine.
He'd been here before, only once, before Sovereigns had been selected and Novus had once again turned into four fully formed courts. It was stunning, the Dawn Court. Absolutely breathtaking and surreal, filled to the brim with colour. Where Denocte had a silent, eternal beauty, Delumine shone with colour and light, the sound of birdsong filling the air, the scent of dew hanging just out of reach. Reich adored it instantly, pledging to return if his meeting with the new Sovereign went well. Reichenbach had heard of Kasil in passing (secrets, rumours and information was often filtered to The Night King through his band of crows) and had heard nothing but kind words toward the man. It was pleasing news, that among the four rulers there could be at least one with his head firmly set on his shoulders. After all, Dawn had always pledged themselves to knowledge over war.
Reichenbach paused at the entrance to the Court, a vision of star-kissed smoke and ebony, looking utterly out of place amongst the scholars that hurried past without a second glance. He was all vibrancy and life, a man to read about in the many scrolls that would tell of their time. The Sovereign of Night waited patiently, hesitant to enter the court herself until he had had a proper invitation.
@Kasil (and possibly @Ipomoea since we've been wanting to thread for a while!)
He had never met anyone that wasn't entranced by the sea, and he figured that it made sense well enough; the waters danced to a rhythm no one knew, they hissed and roared and chortled, they engulfed empires and survived past anything that anyone had ever known. Yet, Raglan found that he was immune to the siren song of the ocean. He couldn't quite care about the salty, briney mess and it's love of devouring innocents then bashing their limp corpses along the rocks. In fact, one could say that the yearling resented the ocean. Indeed, for as the youth stood upon the sands with his gaze tracing the horizon, he could feel his top lip curl in distaste.
"Beautiful things are never really all that beautiful if you get close enough," he muttered, voice whisked away by the seaweed scented breeze that ran lukewarm fingers through silvery strands and riffled over feathered wings.
Running his tongue over his freshly polished teeth, Raglan made a mental note to thank Camdis Lohir yet again for the seemingly bottomless pit that was the Regent's generosity; the yearling hadn't had to pay for even the most petty expenses since taking up residence within the fortress. In return, all the horned stallion asked was that Raglan continued with his studies and worked as his assistant - an easy enough task for the clever lad.
The thought of his improving station caused the rogue's countenance to smooth out, all traces of disgust and resentment fading away to resemble something almost peaceful. Yes, he supposed that he had much and more to enjoy from his short life and that he should refrain from judgement as best he could, but resistance and moderation had never been strong suits for the Street Crow.
The probably never would be, either.
@Ipomoea and anyone else! Sorry for crappy post, im still learning about my baby
![[Image: lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png]](https://orig09.deviantart.net/50c2/f/2017/234/4/0/lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png)
![[Image: exotic_by_kms1002_da21gp9_by_arrakis93-dbevmnk.png]](https://img11.deviantart.net/8ea3/i/2017/183/1/b/exotic_by_kms1002_da21gp9_by_arrakis93-dbevmnk.png)
