The jeweled boy had never been one for punctuality, and his first day of caregiver lessons beneath the tutelage of Camdis Lohir wouldn't change Raglan's habits.
Opalescent hooves clacked against the stone floor of the keep, their echoes muffled by the myriad of tapestries and hangings that adorned the walls. One could tell where the scarlet spattered Regent spent his time by the amount of lush decoration that filled the halls and rooms, for the stallion had a taste for all things comfortable and rich. Rumor had it that the horned beast was an Exiled King from a distant and brutal land, ruled by centuries of incest and magic - not that the winged page gave too much of a damn, Camdis was kind to him and put up with his obviously shady dealings with false frowns and conspiratorial winks.
As far as Raglan was concerned, everyone had their secrets and everyone had their pasts; not all of them were pretty, and very rarely were any of them kind, it was what you did with your time that made anything matter.
As he neared the grand oak doors of the library, the lithe yearling gave an impish smile to the guards on duty and sauntered beneath the stone doorway, his premeditated excuses for his lateness already floating to the forefront of his mind. Strolling through the stacks with their dusty tomes and crackling sconces, the ruby bay followed the scent of jasmine incense until he discovered his tutor and guardian nestled in a pile of swan feather cushions and sipping what he assumed was mint tea. Slowing to a stop before the low mahogany table that Camdis had claimed as his own, the lad watched the flickering fire that had been stoked in the hearth at Camdis' back, relishing in the warmth that encircled the space.
Parting his lips to begin his well-rehearsed monologue of false apologies and flimsy promises, Raglan found that he was interrupted before he could even begin, the Regent's deep baritone cutting him off.
"Save it for those who believe you, boy. Come, sit. We have your formal education to begin."
HELLO
So since this is a thread between my two characters, I would be thrilled if anyone else wanted to come! Camdis would be happy to teach anyone and he'd be even happier to host a sage or another caretaker who could fill int eh gaps in his knowledge<33
Summer was growing far too warm for Morpho’s liking, and the butterfly mare was due for relief. Sweat glistened on her black hide, dampening it to darker hues of ink and gold. She fled to the sea cliffs, longing to feel the wind on her face and smell the salt of the ocean as it crashed below her. Even in the short time she’d been at Novus, the Sage had grown to appreciate the beauty of the Dusk Court… and nothing was more beautiful to her than walking along the edges of Praistigia Cliffs, where she could leave reality behind and become one with nature.
Here, the demons that plagued her seemed to flee, and she was left in the peace of the quiet. As she walked along the rocky cliffs, she closed her eyes to really feel the world around her – to hear the birds sing louder, to smell the damp sea spray, to taste the faintest hints of pollen on the wind. This was her place to stop and reset, and she found herself a bit surprised (if not disappointed) to hear another approach. Turning toward the sound, her meadow green eyes opened to find the flower girl, and while her body had once been tensed to flee from the intrusion, it relaxed and she offered Florentine a hint of a smile.
She didn’t know the mare, but had heard of the Emissary of Terrestella, and nodding to the girl, Morpho offered a kindly sort of greeting. “It’s a good morning to follow the sea.” She stopped, and turned back to the cerulean blue water with a whimsical sort of sigh. For the briefest of moments, there is an overwhelming urge that comes over the mare to dive into the briny deeps, to swim in the great expanse of blue. Turning from the urge, she addresses the honey colored Pegasus again. “I don’t know that we’ve met. Morpho.”
"What if I fall?"
"Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?"
"I must say, this is not at all what I was expecting when I suggested an outing this morning."
It was, perhaps, the understatement of the century. Somnus had always prided himself on the ease in which his mind processed varying information. He was borderline genius, a brilliant tactician, and inanely perceptive. As one who always had to be in control, of himself or the situation, as well as one who loathed ambiguity in any form, the arrival to a place like this was positively maddening. It clawed at his mind, driving a stake of anxiety and self-doubts into his breast, but he couldn't ignore the dredges of curiosity pulling at him like temptation personified.
A maze. It was a maze. Of all of the nefarious, vile locations that he and Ulric could have stumbled upon, being met with gregarious shrubbery in twisting and turning pathways was not it. It was oddly alluring, in a thoughtful kind of way, and they had yet to actually take the beginning steps into the maze, for Somnus was quite content to simply stand outside of the threshold into mystery and simply analyze it for some time before making a final decision.
He had invited his old friend along for a stroll, simply to recollect the events in their lives since their separation from one another and slowly learn of the world that they now lived in. The Dawn Court was one thing, but the land around them was vast and grand, and Somnus was always one for learning more about his environment, his appetite for knowledge and seeking out the unknown voracious and insatiable. This day was no different. The sun was high in the sky, the heat blazing down upon their backs with little remorse, but there were plenty of shade-spots to find and seek solace in along their venture.
Verdant eyes narrowed from his erect station beside Ulric, gaze judgmental and cautionary, and finally the golden tactician looked away from the beckoning entrance to brush his muzzle against the blue roan's broad shoulder. Then, he spoke, the elegant lilt to his voice doing nothing to hide the vague uncertainty, and curiosity that he felt. "... Are you feeling up to an adventure, Ulric?"
The sky is still glowing rosy when Bexley emerges from the oasis and moves headfirst into the sun. It’s only just past dawn, with swirls of color lining the sky and a cool, dying breeze moving through the desert, and her chest is filled with a spark of purpose, flashing brightly through her map of nerves. Maxence has finally asked for her help with something, and despite herself, Bexley can’t help being… proud. Satisfied. Happy that he’s finally letting her do something. Something girly and not crazily important, but it’s still something, and something that she’s really good at.
Blond hooves scraping up sand as she walks, Bexley sways toward the oasis with a bounce of excitement. Her white-blonde mane is bound into a thick braid, loose enough that wisps have settled around her sharply carved cheeks; the gash on her shoulder from the Teryr attack has browned and scabbed over, on its way to recovery; and the bruise that has plagued her from hip to ribs has reached its deepest and darkest, leaving an unruly black blotch against that golden skin. It’s obnoxious to look at, but still she thanks Solis that her injuries were not worse.
By the time she reaches the edge of the canyon, the sun is low but beaming down at her, regaining its strength from the long night behind them. Giddiness seeps through her brain, through her skin. Maxence has not arrived yet, but for once Bexley does not find herself annoyed by the thought of the commander; instead she reaches down to take a drink from the creek that winds next to her feet and hums in contentment as the sound of the desert coming alive around her.
The air is close and tight as she slips from the sky. The land shimmers and shakes before her, one moment close, the next further away. She is not sure how much longer she can fly through this stifling heat. It weighs her wings so heavy, it sets her blood to boil and her eyes blink, and blink again, to rid her gaze of this mirage.
There is a gem that glows cerulean blue, its waters deep and cold, like ice, found in the very depths of the desert. Above it, a waterfall falls, glistening in the unrelenting light.
Sweat glistens upon her neck attracting sand and dust that rub her skin until she feels as rough as sandpaper. She will be dust, she thinks, before she ever reaches this phantom oasis.
All around golden sands stretch and stretch for miles. Dunes roll up towards the sky and then down, like the back of a great behemoth moving beneath this sea of sand and gold.
Florentine’s dagger, made hot by Oriens’ ferocious sun, burns against her breast. This sun laughs at her, it keeps its smoldering eyes upon her skin and threatens to burn her down to ash. Even her flowers, lilac and beautiful, have wilted in the heat.
Yet onward Florentine flies until the gem becomes a pool, until her feet land, small in the vast sands of this unforgiving desert. Her heart pounds in her chest, effortful, heat stressed and water thirsty. Amethyst eyes, behold the sudden blues and vivid greens of this idyllic place.
Cool waters whisper of respite, of cool kisses across her too hot skin. A bag thumps to the ground, weighed low by tinctures and herbs, and lies forgotten in the shade of a palm tree. She is gone, the sunset girl, for she collides at flight with the roaring waterfall.
Cold, cold water washes like a sheet over skin so hot she is sure she will melt into the water like molted gold. Steam rises from her skin like Oriens own breath hot, hot and lingering. Flora watches lavender petals, pulled from her mane by the torrent, tumble down the waterfall to float, dazedly away across the stilling pool.
But it is one small petal, steady and idle, that drifts across to bump against familiar, golden skin. It takes but a lazy blink of water-wet lashes, to recognize the body her petal has found. Swooping low, water cascading from her outstretched wings, the twilight girl lands in the basin. Wading in to the shallows, her skull already low, her lips search for familiar skin. “Bexley.” She hums, “I heard about the Teryr…” She says so softly, for it paid to be an emissary, to hear the dealings of the courts. A blood splattered king, fresh from the teryr fight, fills her mind and she huffs it away.
“Did you escape unscathed?” She asks, she hopes, she prays.
It was a cloudy day until Solis breathed rays of precious light through the heights of their citadel, turning the entirety of the Day Court's library a familiar shade of gold. The shafts of light were mesmerising, the dust that floated within especially so, and all at once the gilded room had lit like a flame. Lifting his gaze from Zolin's collection of books Maxence was soon to sway to the window, breathing gently on the stone sashes of the room's opening as he cast his sights outward to where he expected to see those who had returned to this thirsty land.
Together they were the outsiders, the hard-yarders, the true fighters of Novus and already they were blooming as a nation it would seem. Though, without rules or laws there would always be hiccups, so, the time had come for them to commune as a growing family and ensure order.
Stepping with a prowl from the library of their fortress, the King surveyed the area and where he could present himself and the regime for the populace. There was no better place than the central hall - it was much like a throne room but without much in the way of decor. To the great doors he ambled, pressing the creaky but mighty arch doors open for the populace before he turned upon his hocks to look out upon the great expanse of his kingdoms and the countless dunes the people might come from.
And then, like a lion he roared.
A summoning so loud that the gods might quake, demanding any and all who heard it to come to the Day Court at once. Taking his place at the back of the room upon an elevated slab of stone the sovereign watched and waited for the flock to enter.
There was much to discuss.
This meeting is compulsory.
All Day court members are expected to attend or may face IC punishment! You will have until the 26th of August to reply before the next round begins, though if you do not make it please jump in in the next round. It's better to be late than to not show up at all!
Schtuff that will be covered in this meeting!
The Regent and Emissary will be named and encouraged to take thier place beside the sovereign.
The Warden and Champions will be named and encouraged to stand closest to the front to distinguish their rank.
Those who fought in the teryr battle will be named and congratulated - there will be a separate ceremony for the teryr victors later on in the season.
The laws of the court will be stated.
To close the meeting, the court will join in prayer to Solis lead by a sage, the champion of wisdom or the regime.
Tagging the regime and council of champions
@Avdotya @Seraphina @Torstein @Inkheart @Leviathan @oz @Bexley
With bones strung to the straps of his harness and the smell of decay following the sinking flesh upon them, Maxence questioned on whether the offering would be enough to appease the gods above. Regardless, it was more a symbol of what the bones and decaying flesh had once been that Maxence brought to their lord of a sunburst throne, one who Maxence had never had the privilege to see or hear the voice of like he knew some had. There were those like Avdotya who seemed to be living, breathing proof of Solis' touch given her impressive sand-stirring abilities.
The Elder Teryr he had slain, a beast that wreaked havoc over the canyon long before even Zolin's dynasty, and here Maxence was bringing a trophy of it's femur to the mountain of gods as an offering. Surely Solis would not shy his nose from it.
Flaring his wings at the mountain's peak and nestling his chin against the precious cargo nestled unto his harness, Maxence landed with a swoosh and a beat of his hooves upon the sleet covered mountain top. The air was thin here and certainly hard to fly upon given his weight, though a quick trek to and from the mountain would do little damage - this he realised as his breathing steadied, his feet grabbing into the narrow path up the mountain side.
Upon reaching the summit the commander set down the bone taken from the body of the slain beast, one he had dedicated to Solis himself and all of Solterra. Without a glance behind to see which of his comrades had ended up following him on his excursion to the mount, the sovereign began his words of mass. "Solis," He began, eyes cast down upon the offering out of fear for the heavens above. "From the clutches of Elatus I bring you the bones of an Elder Teryr, slain by your faithful Solterrans. Give us your mercy, your blessing, your faithin our time of revolution..."
A prayer for solis. anyone welcome, though Maxence would be super pleased to see some day court fellows come to worship their patron god :)
Good deities, he hadn't been this sore in a long time. Muscles ached and pulled as he walked, his back screamed from pain as every step tore open the wounds that laid across his spine. His chest was bruised and his flanks were covered with smaller scabs, and he seemed to walk with a delicate step.
His destination lay hidden in the harsh lands of Solterra, but he was glad to reach it when he did. Slowly, he waded in to the waters of the Oasis, the rushing music of the waterfall luring him like a siren's song. Every step was made with renewed vigor, until he was under the cascade of water and it splashed over his body. Sand and grit were washed away, the wound on his back made him clench his teeth and lower his head, but he pressed on. He was lucky that it had only laid in to the muscle, and not bone. Still, he'd have a nice scar next to his spine when it healed.
A story to tell when someone asked the 'Champion of Battle' what he had done for his position.
Leviathan heard nothing but the water around him, his ears moving forward and his mane sticking to both neck and head alike. It felt good to be washed off, to have the wounds cleaned by a natural source. At least he was smart enough to take care of his wounds, nursing them in the ways he knew so he didn't develop infections like an idiot. Like he'd done in the past.
A phantom pain seemed to throb about his shoulders, but he ignored it. Wings from a life past, before he was remade by the whims of mischievous deities. He hadn't thought about them in a few years now, and it was strange to have that phantom sensation, as if there were extra muscles pulling and pushing, splaying wings under the water to clean them, if he'd had them. Alas, he was merely Leviathan, the ground horse with horns. No wings. No red save for his eye.
All the same, he allowed himself to drift in thought, submerged to his chest in water under the falls, closing his eyes and slipping from reality, if only for a little while.
Posted by: Margot - 08-18-2017, 11:59 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
now her hand is raised,
a sword to pierce the sun.
with iron she defends the faithful
let chaos be undone.
There was little keeping Margot inside the walls of the Dusk Court. For all the books the walls sheltered and all the other mythical beings of wing and horn that it housed, nothing was more interesting to a girl who had spend every day of her life trapped behind windows and locked doors. While her wounds healed she dared not to make any journeys that might be too taxing, but for now she set her sights on the places closer to home and the landmarks of Denocte - the lake, for example. She had never seen open water before, aside from he view the towers of the Night court offered. She'd never heard seagulls or waves, felt warm sand beneath her hooves or mushy lake silt. To Margot, everything was a brand new experience - it was as if she had been deaf, dumb and blind.
To the lake she had journeyed at an ambling pace, something between a walk and a trot. She was hasty and excited, but daren't run faster than her gangly pacing would allow for fear of opening the wounds to her feet and fetlocks; she'd spent hours soaking those and having them patched up. To open them all over again would be painful and a real tragedy.
First she heard it - the beating of the lakes shore, and soon after she could smell the fresh earthiness of the water and all the plants that surrounded it. Most of the scents were pleasant and sweet, though there were some that reminded her of all things foul and rotten; perhaps it was the algae or water weed that made such a stink?
By now a wide smile has bewitched her countenance, one so wide it seemingly lit her entire atmosphere as she danced over the reeds and waterlillies. Margot had never seen anything like it, and to look into the waves and see nothing but foam was truly a sight for sore eyes.
Battle Type: BATTLE / SPAR Prize: BRAGGING RIGHTS / REICH FINDS OUT HOW GOOD HIS WARDEN IS! Character #1:click Bonded: n/a Magic: n/a Armor: n/a Weapons: n/a
There was no better day for sparring. The sun was bright and high in the sky, warming Reichenbach's mahogany skin as he stood relaxedly upon the Steppe. He was waiting for Rostislav, newly appointed Warden of the South and his best friend. It was rare to find another man so easy to click with and yet from first meeting the two men had felt companionable, something that had developed quickly into friendship - Rosti's arrival and transfer into the Night Court had been the last brick solidifying their close relationship. Now Reich felt completely at ease awaiting the other mans arrival, even going so far as to close his eyelids to warm them in the summer sun, one ear flicked upward to catch the sounds of his arrival.
Rostislav was well known for his fighting skills - one of the many reasons Reichenbach had been pleased when he'd accepted the proposal to become Warden. Too many saw Rosti's love for drink and wrote him off for it, ignoring the thickly built muscles and the faded scars, the glint in his steely eyes that revealed so much more than what lingered on the surface. This would be the first time the two men met on the battlefield, a clashing of two Denocte titans, a test for both Reichenbach and Rostislav. If Rostislav won it would prove he deserved his position as Warden and was, without a doubt, the best man to defend their home. If Reich won... it would prove to The Night King and all of his citizens that he wasn't the kind of King to sit upon the throne and allow others to win their battles for them.
The thought curved his black lips into a mellow smile, a single ear sliding backward as he heard the sounds of approaching hooves.
"You start."
He said lazily, opening his long lashed eyes and blinking a few times to adjust to the sunlight.
Summary: Reich is lazily standing about in the sun and tells Rosti he can start <3
![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png)
