i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
There is something about taking wing in the morning, a serenity and beauty in the quiet stillness where nature is the only song to come to ear underneath a canopy of pastel. There is no bustle of busy halls or the murmur of others about matters of Court and the plans for the day. There is only the Gulls uttering their calls to the sound of the Ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks and cliff walls, while the breeze rustled through the grasses clinging to the cliffs and tousling salt kissed hair. Between the smell of the salt water, the faint perfume of the cliff flowers intertwines and makes it just that little bit sweeter.
The view is breathtaking, as the sun still hung low in the morning sky and the moon still showed her pale visage to the slowly waking world, painting the sky in shades of dawn. Soft pinks, dainty purples and delicate blues streak across the never ending sky, and the winged Kirin is almost reminded once again of home. Each stroke of his magnificent wings is a slow elegant stroke, using the wind blown off of the sea to keep him airborn. Gilded scales twinkle in the encroaching light, while his pale white fur shimmered with every graceful turn and twist of his lithe body. Part of him expected to hear the shrill call of fire and flesh on the wind, the sound of rolling thunder as the scaled beasts roused themselves from their perches to join him in his morning flight. He had been young then, young and not so burdened with the troubles that came with walking the long road, he had enjoyed the sky for it's simple pleasure of freedom. How exhilarating it had been to fly with beasts so impossible and yet so real, who looked at him through eyes the colour of molten gold and the deepest shades of crimson, icy blue and moon dust with feral glee.
Now he enjoyed it as a means to escape, absent of his most dear companions.
Still, his somber mood didn't bleed through upon his chiselled face nor in the way he moved through the sky. He remained effortless, the picture of serenity. The kind of image that many who practiced the arts would long to capture in their mediums, draconian eyes alight in the morning wash, forever unable to be captured by even the most precious of carved gems. He had left his cloak in his chambers, favoring only his bridle, as much as he longed to feel the comfort of the tulle and silk layers, flying in such a thing would be a hindrance more than a help. Even without the extra adornments, he was not any less for it, the white gold and crystals adorning his face emphasizing the sharp contours of his face.
Eventually, he angled his body to take him to the cliff edge, long back legs extended to catch the ground first before his front hooves sank into the lush grasses in a gentle step. Isorath left his wings open once he turned back out to face the ocean, high above his head and extended in the breeze. Words could not describe the feel of the wind as it caressed the leathery appendages, though he imagined it was similar to a lovers gentle touch. Aimed to soothe and beckon the weary soul onward. Lavender eyes fell shut after a moment, his head tilted to welcome the warmth of the sun on his face and ears perked forward to listen to the Ocean's soulful song.
"Isorath talks."
in which arah feels like she's terrible at coming up with starters and open threads omg.
When she was younger, she would talk to the gods.
It didn’t really matter which of them she would speak to – Seraphina didn’t ever remember specifying. She was probably too young to care. Blessed with an antisocial, eccentric (to say the least) mother and an absentee father, she spent her earliest days in isolation, and that was when the habit started. In lieu of friends or family, she spoke to anyone that might be listening, and, even with her scant knowledge of folklore, her imaginary friends quickly became what hazy concepts she had developed of the gods. Now, she would openly admit that her perceptions of her childhood were fragmented and discordant, warped into jagged, sharp chunks that felt as though they happened to someone else by Viceroy’s influence. When she thought about herself, she felt very deeply that she was more of a spectator of her own memories. Rationally, she knew that they had happened to her, but it felt as though she’d watched them occur to someone else. These so-called “imaginary friends” were among the few memories that remained completely intact and untainted – even Viceroy considered a few things sacred, and religion was one such thing. This was likely why she still spoke with them from time to time, though it was largely confined to her trips to Veneror or her internal monologue. It was silly, when she thought about it, but the impulse was so unconscious that she hardly noticed it until long after the fact.
She’d slipped away from the politics and heat of Solterra like a ghost in the middle of the night, tracing the familiar pathways (the few stone landmarks in the sand and the stars, then trees and dusty trails, worn thin by years of devotion) to make her way to the holiest site in Novus. She brought with her the long strip of mother-of-pearl that she had taken from the shore of the Terminus Sea, a set of several teryr feathers bound up in thin golden chain, a vine of blush-white flowers that bloomed at night, a strange piece of driftwood she’d found washed up on the shore of the Mors, carved with strange symbols, and, perhaps most intriguing of all, a shard of brightly-colored red glass, like fire, found beneath the starlit sky of the Mors days after a terrible storm. These respective offerings had been hoarded over the months that followed Viceroy’s death; she felt ashamed to admit it, but she hadn’t been to Veneror for worship since just days before her mentor was slaughtered, laid out bright red and blood in the sand. (Had he known? She sometimes wondered if he knew. The last time that they had walked these paths together – the last time they would – she recalled his blazing white silhouette, his crown of draconian horns wreathed in red flames that set the first blush of dawn to shame, set the sun to shame. He’d turned to her, eccentric golden eyes brimming with an emotion that felt so very strange on him, a tiredness that she would never associate with the immortal, and spread out his great, angelic wings to their fullest extent. “These aren’t my gods, you know. These are the gods of this land. This land is not my land. This is…” He’d turned his gaze to the dawn, the sun as it split the blurry edge of the horizon. The flames danced and writhed, like snakes. “Kaerth-sihl ehl louctet fienccia nomar de.” Apprentice, the birds are burning in the midday sun. He never spoke when he knew that she’d understand it; it wasn’t midday, and there weren’t any birds, up so high. She wondered, then, if he was finally collapsing – she’d watched it for a while, like the slow wear of the crags on the ocean shoreline. Maybe there was more to it, she thought, from time to time. Some cipher or message, perhaps? But she didn’t see any meaning to his words. Seraphina should have missed him, and she did miss the quiet lilt of his voice as she ascended the mountainside, if only because the silence, save the low howl of the wind, felt suffocating.
She didn’t miss him at all.)
The shrines, covered in their tangles of overgrowth, welcomed her as she finally arose to the mountain’s highest point, wind whipping frantically through her mass of hair, left loose, for once, and tumbling to her chest. She laid her small offerings at each shrine in turn; the flowers for Caligo, the feathers for Solis, the shell for Vespera, the wood for Oriens, and, finally, the glass for Tempus. She lingered only moments at each shrine, though the longest space of time was reserved for Solis, genuine worship by comparison to simple respect – a whispered thanks that none had been killed during the fight with the teryr. She stood, for a long moment, at the base of his shrine, head dipped in prayer. When she stepped back, still in quiet contemplation of the divine, the first blush of dawn had slipped above the horizon, stripping away starlight with a soft haze.
The silence, she found – sheltered from the whip of wind – was a comfort, if a momentary one.
@Inkheart - if you still want to drop in <3
otherwise, AW!
Summer arrived with scolding heat and sweat slicked skin. On its heels, dawn prowled, leonine through the lands, turning all to gold with sunrise eyes.
Behind the lion comes the twilight girl, carried in upon the fringes of the night. There is no dusk light here to blow the cobwebs from her heart. But a new day dawns, appeasing her with pink-blue skies.
The sun rises and it is finest here in all the lands. Flora welcomes it, just as she had welcomed the revelry of night in Denocte, the ravages of day in Solterra and the twilight bruises of Terrastella.
The dusk girl dances in gold: through swirling motes in pouring light.
She dances through bluebells and is surely hears their jingling laughter.
She dances past leaves of emerald green, then in a clearing falls to stillness.
Upon a branch, its slim body so tall and proud, an eagle sits. Its eyes gleam hard as it watches her and she it. From her lungs its beauty steals her breath and her smile grows so keen and wild. “I have found your sleeping place.” She whispers to this regal bird, for ‘til now it had only let her see it floating high upon sea breezes.
It looks away, then back to her before its wings unfurl to fly through trees and shrubs then up to dawn’s new sky above.
Over the morning song of birds and bees, a twig snaps with a startling crack. Florentine spins, with swirling, honeyed hair and a rushing heart within her chest. Lavender petals, startled and free, tumble loose from her tangled mane.
She is held still in rapture, in wonder.
Her amethyst eyes skip from floret to floret held tight within their flowery crown. Flora blinks but lets her eyes lower to find the gold rings that glimmer from his nostril. But then, oh then, they fall further still to the wings that rest upon each ankle. She blinks again, her gaze a twinkling star of dusky amethyst that, with great effort, rises from his delicate wings.
Their eyes, their bodies, their flowers, are the pinks and purples of dusk and dawn. Florentine and Ipomoea are two skies, two bodies, so similar, so separate… She looks to her mirror boy of flowers, wings and brilliant eyes and is struck dumb, much to her surprise.
Her mouth opens, to speak… to greet him… to be polite… yet all that sounds is a huff of surprise. At once her mouth snaps shut and her amethyst eyes simply blink once more; so bright, so… dumbfounded.
He goes out before dawn, when the air still feels cool enough against his cheek to be a faint memory of winter. Even so, Morozko would be a fool to mistake this place, this season, for anything other than what it is; there is no frost to texture the green grass beneath his feet, no halo of ice crystals around the setting moon. Instead there are crickets and nightingales, singing themselves to sleep as the stars fade away.
But he has the pre-dawn stillness of the court to himself, and that is enough for the unicorn. With the capitol a dark spire behind him, a shadow against shadows, he begins to run - great, reaching strides to stretch the stillness from his muscles. As a guard in Heimsterra, he had worked out with his regiment every morning; even taking a few weeks off had changed him, softening his muscles, filling out the winter-lean places of his body. It felt good, then, to run. Even as his lungs protested, as his breath came in long pulls and a sheen of sweat built on his lilac-dappled coat.
Eventually he’d have to find himself a sparring partner, lest he lose all semblance of his battle-skill. For now, his only observers were the deer his pounding hoofbeats disturbed and an owl that swooped low overhead, curious on silent wings.
By the time he returns to the citadel, the sky is awash in pink and coral and he is satisfactorily exhausted. The other benefit to exercise he’d always enjoyed was the way it served to quiet his mind, too, and for the moment his duties here were forgotten - all he wants is to bathe, to eat, perhaps to nap.
A pale figure stands before the dark mouth of the doorway, and for a moment those wishes are pushed aside.
The stallion isn’t one Morozko had seen at the court meeting; his presence would have been unmissable. He’s a grand figure, tall and white as a ghost, crowned with antlers and gilded with golden scales. The unicorn eyes him for a long moment, caught between admiration and suspicion, not at all self-conscious about his own sweat-slick body. Finally he offers the stranger a careless smile. “Thought all Dusk citizens were late sleepers,” is all he says by way of greeting.
‘Do not go into those woods,’ They say.
“You can never be sure of your way.”
The snow’s so thick
And the ice so slick.
With your life you will surely pay.
-------
The swan boy is grace but the swan boy is cursed.
He descends from the sky as a great black shadow; a pegasus borne of sky and water.
The mirror waters had cried to him. They had been but a still, blot of ink and yet their voice was a waterfall’s roar within his ears. His approach, from the star strewn skies, had grown it into a puddle, then a pond and lastly into a great lake.
It lay so still… just a jagged piece of broken glass, silver sleek and so deeply black. Beneath the midnight moon it slept, so still so silent, but ever watchful.
It’s waters spy the swan boy land and laps forwards upon its shore, questioning, asking, chattering. It longed for the newcomer, for the recipient of its call. It coaxes him close and upon its surface paints him as elegant as any swan.
It calls to him again, watery fingers reaching, pulling. He heeds its call again, for who cannot? And eases himself into the water. He is the black shadow that shattering the glass yet more. Above the stars do blink to better see the shivering, rippling lake.
His swan wings, with feathers like knives in the night, arch over his spine. They are so large, so grand, and lure the eye as if forged of cathedral stone, held together by more than just magic – religion.
The breath of Hiemsterra, whispering ice that branches up his legs, melts away beneath the touch of this warm, warm lake. Upon his wings, hoar frost remains, proud and valiant against the warmth of Novus. Out and out they crawl, like spider webs spun by winter spiders of ice and snow.
Polunin, a silent ghost of swallowing black, drifts his way across the glassy lake and feels the bite of winter thaw.
A noise sounds upon the bank, it is another shape to stir the darkness. It draws his eye and arches his neck: chin to chest and eye unblinking. Still and quiet, he watches and waits. Obsidian lips pull tight, muzzle parting as his eyes begin to blaze, silver fierce and wildly black. Lips part, as his ears fall back, with his coarse, coarse song of a hissing of breath.
Aggression is a whisper breath away and declares itself within another rattling hiss of the wild swan’s voice. How long he drifted upon the lake, no one is quite sure, least of all Polunin himself. But the sunlight has begun to crest, bright and brilliant, as he drifts toward the shore. His feet have just touched earth when a figure appears upon the bank.
@Reichenbach And any others who wish to say hello!
Character #2: @Rostislav Bonded: Yes, a hellhound! Magic: N/A. Armor: Yes! Weapons: N/A.
A I S L I N N
some people are born with tornadoes in their lives,
but constellations in their eyes.
other people are born with stars at their feet,
but their souls are lost at sea.
- nikita gill
The glowing sphere of fire fell away in the clouds, slowly drifting off into a slumber and paving way for the moon. As the sun slipped into his slumber, the air steadily dropped to a refreshing cool chill. The sounds of the night rumbled awake; a winged wraith dancing in the growing shadows. Slowly, she stepped, gracefully silent and purposeful in her movements.
A gleaming blue orb looked out from the dark, glowing in the dying sunlight. Velvet lips parted and breathed in the night air. The tinkle of metal on metal grew louder as an inky mass moved beneath the trees, toeing the tree line before making an entrance. One ivory leg stepped out from the shadows. Then another. Another. Until her entire body was no longer concealed; all grace and strength and lithe features. The necklace of coins and feathers clinked like wind chimes in the breeze. She stopped, the gypsy woman so so still.. a delicate hoof poised, her great feathery wings unfurling slowly from her sides. The woman stood there, like the frozen dark before a star dies; the hush of breath moments before a violent and brilliant supernova is born it's wake. Only a moment passed; a millisecond and then the creature burst skyward in a flurry of wings and pure muscle.
Suspended in the sweet night air, she drifted, pumping her wings against the currents in the air. The world fell away beneath her, and suddenly she was swimming in the stars. Denocte was sleeping beneath her as she flew, her trajectory guiding her to the neutral lands. Too soon, she spied the rocky plateau where the dirt had tasted the blood of those from all the courts. She spiraled down down down, until she hovered a meter above the ground. Crouching her legs, the woman landed, her joints groaning with the absorption of her fall. Sweat glistened on her ebony coat, hot breath blowing through her nostrils. Slowly, she collected herself and stood, raising her chin defiantly to whoever lurked in the shadows and beyond. A warrior with battle in her blood, her heart thrumming like the drums of war.
She was ready.
---
@Rostislav
Here ya go :3
Thanks for sparring with my girl <3 Let the games begin!
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
Diplomacy, further education, expanding of minds and hearts. Those are the reasons she will give when asked why she has chosen to cross the border into Terrastella. And sure enough those could be viable, true reasons. But that wasn't the reason she crossed into the southern fields. No, it was simple wandering, and a general disrespect for the boundaries placed before her. She's a woman of the world, a prophetess for Solis, and certainly the sun shines in more than just Solterra.
That being noted, she does not announce her presence or stomp around unnecessarily to draw attention to herself. Her dark hooves are practically silent on the ground except for the rustling of the grasses against her long legs. Her black and gold wings are tucked against her bodice, hugging close to her ribcage. Her golden eyes take in the world around her, bathed in the soft light of the dawn. It's warm, even without the sun beating down upon her skin. The blessing and curse of summer.
So far she has seen no one but the creatures of the plains. Deer, rabbits, birds that fly overhead, chirping their good morning. Perhaps the denizens of the Dusk Court have not risen to meet the day? Perhaps. She wonders with a delicate, musing smile if perhaps they are tucked away in little hovels or caves, the shelter of trees, dreaming of the sunsets to come.
All that happened within the Dusk Court was generally heard by the Regent, the man of gold and white. Máni had fit surprisingly well in to his role, the mantle placed on his shoulders something that he had to adjust to at first. It had felt more comfortable over time, and thus, he had found himself wandering the Court rather than the lands around it, always accompanied by the soft croak of the corvid at his side. This time, Vidar rode upon his back, ruffling large wings and digging talons down in to the soft and dark coat that lay over Máni's spine.
It helped to have a bonded such as Vidar; the raven could see what he could not when he was on his flights. It was just recently that the corvid had returned, blue eyes shifting to look intelligently at his bonded. "There is a new one in the Court." A soft click of his beak was given as he spoke telepathically, and Máni's ears twisted slightly, his body coming to a halt as he exited the massive structure of the court, lifting his head to look up at the warm sky instead.
He was quiet for a moment, mulling the thought over in his mind. "It seems we keep growing. Not a bad thing." Mentally however, he thanked his companion, and the raven merely opened his wings with a deep caw. With a few flaps, he was up and in the air, his white body lifting higher and higher, and the Regent watched him go for the moment, watching as he turned in to a near speck among clouds.
"He's here. I suggest being nice." The sarcastic words were drawled, and Máni merely snorted at his companion's phrasing. As if the stallion were anything but nice.
Tilting his head, he could see the form of someone he hadn't met just yet, and he stepped forward, taking up a small canter toward the figure, only to come to a halt near him, a little stunned. He was.. well. He was rather different, but it was a pleasant sort of look, the gold and white. "Welcome to the Dusk Court, my friend."
Wariness crept in to her bones as she walked the Eluetheria Plain, her slate eyes darting up every so often to the horizon that held the mother of all storm clouds, swollen with rain and potentially heavy winds. Even at the distance it was, it was incredibly fast, rolling up in the sky and sending lightning cracking across clouds, dancing, while thunder rumbled low. It snarled in warning for what was to come, and she found herself looking around rapidly, ears going back. There was no way she could outrun it, and the nearest shelter (other than a cave) were the trees that were far far away. Even then, there were gusts of wind that knocked her hair around and her wings back, nearly snapping fragile bones as the storm encroached.
She ducked her head downward and folded the wings, feeling the wind rush about her, the sky darkening far more rapidly, and she dropped the herbs she had gathered. They fell to her hooves, only to get whipped away with a gust of wind, and the roar of thunder grew. Araxes turned herself, dancing on her hooves before she lunged forward, toward the cave that she had seen.
She moved with a speed she never would have thought she had, hooves pounding at the ground as the rain began to pour. It was no gentle beginning but an utter downpour that spilled out from the fat clouds, dumping what felt like tons of water. She was soaked within a moment, feeling the water trickle against her skin, and the wind whip up a frenzy.
Lightning cracked, striking the ground near her, and it sent her squealing the last hundred feet or so in to the cave, grateful to stumble in past rocks and a gaping cavern maw. The sage dipped her head, feeling herself shivering as she tried to press to a wall, huddling against rocks that scraped at her flanks in an effort to preserve body heat.
It had been so warm before, but the sudden storm felt like ice compared to the usual summer heat.
Ah Araxes. She was supposed to be in the Night Court, to expand her position and allow herself to do her sagely duties, but her little heart never seemed to be satisfied when it came to exploring. She was always the ever eager sort, one that wanted to learn new things, so it was no surprise that she was gently kicking pebbles astray as she wandered a dirt path. It wound through the trees, and her ears flopped forward, ever alert as she walked, and finally allowed herself to emerge from between tree trunks. There, before her, sprawled a wide open plain, the sun dancing bright enough to make her blink in surprise and cause her wings to flutter.
They even curled a little, resting over her head as if to shade some of the harsher UV from her corneas. When she finally adjusted to the brighter environment, they pulled away, white feathers ruffling and carefully tucking in against her head once more.
Careful steps were taken, and she meandered out in to the plain, emerging fully from the trees before trotting forward. Part of her knew she had been here before, but it had been a brief stint, just a walk through. She hadn't had the time to enjoy it like she was now, her hooves dancing under her and her eyes lighting up as she released a soft giggle. Perhaps she could gather plenty of herbs here and take them back with her back to the structure of the Court, place them in jars and dry them, hang them. Everything necessary to begin her life as a sage truly.
Tossing her head, the thick braid moved wildly, flopping over her nape as her forelock got in her face, and she only puffed out a breath, moving a stray few hairs from her nose so she didn't sneeze. In the daylight this place was beautiful, pocketed with flowers and wildlife in the distance.
Breathless.
@Reichenbach || fff I finally got them a thread omg
