The day had already turned, fatigue clinging to his hooves and dragging them down. They dragged as he walked, toe scuffs connecting his steps from one to the other as two parallel lines skating across the sand in unison. It no longer bothered him, the heat of the ground: he had become numb to it, ignoring the warmth pressed against the soft frogs of his feet as though it were a new part of him, a burdensome accompaniment he would have to learn to endure. Still the canyon continued to expand before him, stretching as far as his eyes could see in a seemingly endless labyrinth determined to trap him and keep him as far from his partner as possible. He was truly beginning to regret entering it in the first place—why would Eros, after all? Surely he wouldn’t find his mate down here—but it seemed such a waste to retrace his steps when he had already made it this far. And he had already come so far into the canyon despite this area’s blasting heat, he was determined to not let all this work be for nothing.
To get through it, his thoughts had turned to the beach, imagining the desert as though it were one singular expanse that would end in cool waves lapping at his fetlocks. Images of Eros racing through the water spurred him on, convincing him his mate would be just around the next corner, hiding in the mirage he had convinced himself was the ocean. But unlike the ocean, it did not return as the waves rolled through their rhythms, it only pulled, pulled, pulled, drawing him farther into the desert, chasing it. He told himself he would make it—but the desert had other plans for him.
It was only as the stars began to peek through that he stopped, the mirage gone as the heat also began to dissipate, though only slightly. It was still stifling, but he breathed easier now that there was some relief. Short as it lasted, that was, for his comfort reminded him only how thirsty he was, and how little water he had found between the narrow walls of his prison.
Maybe he would die here, and Eros would never know. Would never find him. The vultures would pick him clean long before his remains would be found and identified in this world of strangers.
He couldn’t help but let these morbid thoughts consume him, despair wracking his body, constricting his throat in a painful embrace. ’Eros would never know.’ Desperation turned his gaze upwards, seeking that familiar bright star which led him north. He had heeded his uncle’s words well, following that star for several days in a bid to find somewhere he might find Eros. When in doubt, it was the stars he followed, north always his direction of choice. And yet it had failed him; leading him only to this wasteland of a desert, the one place he never wanted to be. No sign of another equine in sight--let alone his mate.
The sudden crack of a hoof against stone rang through the canyon, reverberating off of the walls and making it impossible to tell from which direction it came from. Aion’s ears snapped back into his feathers, lip curling menacingly as his eyes flashed all around. "Who goes there?” he demanded, all of his frustration and despair filling his tone. "Show yourself!"
wowwww excuse this rambling mess @Torstein ! talk.
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
Colors. So many colors washed in hues of deep violet, crimson, and luscious orange.. like watercolors melting together across the ocean of sky. The air was thick and humid; the world fully blossomed as spring slowly gave way to the coming heat of summer. Soon, the fever to come would blanket the land, and with it.. the coming off summertide storms.
And oh, how the storms ravaged. Wild and untamed and wicked in their beauty. Each tide of heat would bring them, swirling in their madness and destruction. But when the riot of rain and thunder was over, a quiet calm would left in it's place.
From a young age, the summer storms called to her. Lightning in her eyes, hurricanes drowning oxygen in her lungs, and the color of storm clouds forever painted on the plumes of the her wings. The shattering of rain on the sea and the crack of thunder rolling across the darkening sky sang to her like a sweet lullaby. And as the sun fell asleep to welcome the coming of night, the inky mare stood with orbs on the horizon.
She stood proud on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the angry sea, strong winds whipping her silvery mane and tail around her warrior-built frame. Salt and brine filled her nostrils as she breathed deeply, the crash of waves below her as loud as a clap of thunder. Across the ocean, she eyed the gathering of dark billows, their violet and indigo clouds suffocating the last colors of sunlight from the sky. Flashes of light cracked, the blood in her veins thrumming as the storm gathered it's strength. The gypsy woman stretched her wings, aching to take flight and soar to the eye of the cyclone. Instead she watched silently, waiting, her heart drumming as the storm sang a song only she could hear.
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Anyone welcome <3
Thread inspired by this playist.
Fittingly, it is the hour of twilight. From east to west, the wide open sky overhead is a broad stroke of ocean-black and pink in a gradient only disrupted by the occasional deep purple strip of tattered orange-bellied clouds. The sun has fallen below the horizon and shadow is becoming indistinguishable from the night itself, creeping in like a flood, with stars winking into existence as glittering jewels strewn across fine velvet. The moon sits high and pale and alone, still shy of the light that remains. The cool spring air is filled with activity and noise as a gentle, tinkling breeze races across the land: the cricket orchestra begins to tune their instruments in a warm-up and from the tall grass small green lights flash in a coded pattern, dancing to the sweet harmonies of a nightingale's song. A few doe and their offspring have turned into dark silhouettes, their definition slowly bleeding into the darkness encroaching from behind. All of this Khadija watches, and listens, as she rests on a lush carpet of emerald clover.
Earlier she had awoken from a deep, dark sleep in the middle of a swamp heavy with fog. Disorientated and aching. The last thing she remembered from prior was pain, a lot of searing pain, tearing her asunder while the blue nuclear glow from whatever foul magic was just used to rip her soul from her body turned her guardian's once pleasant face skeletal and gruesome as it hovered over her writhing form. It took her a good while merely blinking like a dull cow to wipe the memory away before she understood that she was very much not where she had, by all rights, just been. But it wasn't simply that she was somewhere different, for it felt different as if her whole life up to that point had merely been an effervescent but ultimately meaningless dream. One that had ended eons ago. Leaving the swamp for some civilization felt like the best decision after she gained her senses and could find her legs again, weak and jello-like at first as they were. It took the entire length of the day for her to finally end up here in a meadow that stretched beyond sight; where, unbeknownst to Khadija, the hub of the Dusk Court reigns -- as majestic as her ignorance of it.
A sprig of lacy yellow Angel's Creep sits precariously between her lips, its prime chemical soaking in through the blood-rich gums and spreading a delicious relaxation through her nervous system. It mimics inebriation, but the amount she sucked on wouldn't express drunkness; instead, it allows her to enjoy a transcendent detachment. Her lean red body lays half-propped on her side; big beautiful wings dominated by a shade of luxurious ivory sit tightly against her strong back while a waterfall train of a tail in the same fair hue pools out around her like a molten platinum disaster. Exhausted but chill, she mulls over her current set of options: keep moving onward or sleep right here. The latter remained the most awfully tempting choice. It wasn't like she was afraid of anything, either; the scent or calls of wolves were lacking and crepuscular prey animals surrounded her. Nothing would go wrong, right?
It was in the lamp-flickered darkness, the worn stone walls, the engulfing silence, the musty scent of knowledge years past. It permeated the solemn entity that stood tall against the surrounding prairie. Tonight, it seemed so much more quiet, so much more void of everything. All life had been scattered away from the walls of the imposing Court's grand keep - no birds flew through the quiet night, no bugs buzzed around the flickering lamps lining the walls, no sentient being dared whisper their presence with their footsteps.
Except one.
Buried deep within the Court, in a room that most have long since forgotten how to traverse to, he lay. Legs pressed underneath him, the Regent of Denocte slept in a deep haze, worn ragged from the nights prior. It was a restful slumber, devoid of both nightmares and typical dreams.
But the visions, oh the visions! How wonderful, how splendid, how vivid, how bright!
In the depths of his mind, she was there. Her skin reflected the allure of the deep night sky, her eyes a void darker than any black hole within the galaxy. Her hooves were harder than any diamond and blacker than any onyx - but did they even touch the worn stone of the grand keep? The hair that graced the strong crest of her neck - borne heavy with the weight of the world and the hatred of her siblings - wafted elegantly and weightlessly, surrounding her form like a haze. Star-like shimmers reflected across her pelt, and her manifestation was as ephemeral as it was solid.
She was glorious, beautiful, but oh so bitter. The resentment that exploded within her heart continued to radiate as an immense presence. It tightened his muscles, made him shift uncomfortably within his slumber. In his mind, she was standing over him, a vision so bright it was blinding.. her existence all-consuming.
Even in his dreams, he mirrored his physical position - prone on the floor, unable to stand with a figure so commanding bearing down over him. Her eyes felt like they were boring a hole into the depths of his soul. But the bitterness was coupled by a sweet tenderness, and as Caligo bent her head down to him, her lips touched his ear.
An explosion of pain would consume him, and he would forget how to breathe for seconds that felt like hours. It felt as if his insides were being shredded, and along with the pain came the bright flashes of his history past. It gripped him, immobilized his limbs, and spread like a wildfire rapidly inwards. The agony found its center, tightened around his heart and choked him, threatening to break the slumber..
Until she breathed.
Caligo's breath pushed away the pain and agony, and in his hazy stupor, it felt hot along the nape of his neck. "Make my name eternal like you now are," she whispered. "Make it dark like the void."
In an instant, the vision ended - her bitter presence fleeting. All she left in her wake was more questions than answers, and a sweat-soaked red and bay creature, crumpled on the floor of a quiet room.
@Camdis' fell asleep within the library walls of the Night Court and was visited in his dreams by what he may interpret as Caligo herself. The pain he experienced is his mortal form 'shedding,' revealing his immortality that has now frozen him at his current age.
Camdis may interpret the dreams as a vision from the gods, but please be aware no 'confirmed' contact was made! He is free to interpret the words spoken in his dreams however he wishes, and you may choose if he is 'aware' of his immortality or not.
Thread requirements: 1 reply, 300 words. Please tag the RE account in your reply.
For a year he’d dreamed and planned, imaging his escape from his own people and country to the refuge that Delumine was in his mind. Here he was, now, and all that awe and wonder and expectation that had built up in him was bitterly mixed with disappointment.
First there was the winged girl, with her dagger and her grinning insults, and then there was the maze (his tail is still singed from his encounter with the wyvern; he has yet to find some way to shear the burned parts away), the lackluster meeting with their sovereign, the way the halls echoed, empty. Nothing was as he had pictured it.
So, as he had always done, Charlemagne sought respite in the library.
This, at least, was as grand as he’d imagined. The wood was old and gleaming, the smell of leather bindings rich as sunlight. Huge windows arched gracefully and the slanting late-afternoon light set dust motes to dancing. Musty and boring, the strange girl had called his scent, but the young unicorn found it nothing short of magical. Even so, her insults toward scholars and books nagged at him, weighing on his heart like ballast. There was a part of him that hated her for how she disenchanted him from what he loved — and a part that suspected it was his own weakness to blame.
It made for a bad collection of thoughts, ones he was eager to shake. There weren’t many others in the library, and those present had the good grace to ignore him, leaving the dappled chestnut to wander the aisles, his reflection an indistinct echo on the marble floors. Occasionally he would touch his muzzle to a worn spine or pause to scan a collection of tomes. He isn’t looking for anything in particular, but when his green-eyed gaze finds a book called The Magic of This World he guides it from the shelf.
And then stands in the middle of the library, uncertain where to take his prize. Along the far wall there is a collection of cushions for reclining; to the left, a row of tables. The colt, seized with indecision, makes no movement toward either, and then a cough sounds from behind him.
Cheeks burning he turns, finding himself face-to-face with a stallion he doesn’t recognize. “Er,” he says, feeling his cheeks begin to burn, “sorry, I - I’ve never been here before. I wasn’t sure…” Trailing off, the unicorn darts his gaze away, swallowing against his embarrassment and frustration. He can't even say what he isn't sure of, but the truth of the statement is obvious enough in every line of his body.
It seemed that even here he was doomed to a poor first impression.
@Aion pardon the length, he has a lot of feelings right now xD
The sandstone walls are rough against Florentine’s soft, pleated feathers. A cascade of dust falls in a plume from where her wings trail like fingertips along the rock-face.
Onwards the dusk girl walks, drowning in the sunset orange of the towering maze. Florentine had heard word of another maze. A thing of wild green, a vibrant hedgerow maze that grew up overnight, and harboured wild beasts. But this canyon, she thinks, surely surpasses it, with its labrynthine passages so high, so wild...
All about her the canyon whispers. It follows her with giggling echoes of loose rocks and clicking-clacking feet. It is alive this canyon, from the idle streams that chatter their winding way through the steep, steep valleys to the cry of birds that fly so high up in the sky.
The Dusk Court Emissary does not know how long she has been walking but she refuses to let her wings fly. For this land is a maze of treasures. It hides its secrets within rock folds, darkened caves and glittering at the bottom of babbling brooks. The flower girl relishes each discovery she makes. Small, determined flowers, content with their parched spot, thrust themselves out from rock outcrops to bask in the heat of the sun. They shiver as she passes, leaning out as if to touch the petals that tumble from the girl’s rock dusted and wind tangled hair.
Too soon the stonewalls lean in upon her, and maybe Flora’s heart should flutter with fear. But do not fear, for she is the seasoned explorer and if not, with her wings it would take but a moment to be so high up as to see the canyon stretch below like red, red veins leading her in to Solterra’s heart.
With each step she takes, Rannveig’s commissioning words nip at her golden heels. Satisfy the urges of your heart. Go, and show them all you are of Dusk. Tell them that we are a Court once again.
And Florentine has. Into Solterra she brings the hazy gold and bruised purples of dusklight. She sets the light to set beneath the brilliant glow of the hot day’s light. Yet, even as she walks, placing one slender limb before the other, Flora is not sure which the greater urge is… To explore: to satisfy the wild desire to be free. Or the other, to fulfill a request from a woman that was fast becoming more than a queen… Rannveig was, quite simply, becoming more akin to a friend. Her words were sisterly, knowing. Flora’s heart ached with them, for they both lifted her and tied great chains about her. The dead dagger about her throat bore a power no more, but if she could regain it – what then? Would she leave Novus and her Dusk Court behind in little more than a blink of an eye? Her soul cried yes, but her heart could only bleat for the pain as it began to rend in two.
Oh the girl of flowers dashes each thought from her mind, casting them away like ashes in the wind. Maybe someone would hear her now? Maybe they would see the trail of lavender petals that fell like dusk-lit stars in her wake, plucked from the wild flowers laced into the snarls of her mane and thrown back by the wind.
As she turns a corner, a great wall rears up to block her path. From above, high, high up in the cerulean sky, a bird cries and calls her up. Through her honeyed mane she peers at the soaring creature and laughs, the song echoing off the canyon walls. She turns to let her feet find another route.
You may say I'm a dreamer,
but I'm not the only one
Today weir had decided to do a bit of plant searching. She is a caretaker of the dusk court and she takes this job seriously but to get better at her role in her court she needs to collect, examine, test, and store different plants from around the land. Next, she will need to talk with elders of this world about what they know about each plant and the healing or toxic properties of each plant. She has started a small collection at the dusk court and have labeled some of them and made mental notes of other properties. She had searched most of the day but wanted to cool off now so she headed down to the sea. She had seen some others along the way but none that she recognized. It seemed that everything is growing so fast. When she first arrived you hardly saw anyone but now strangers soared by in the skies and horses and unicorns are a common sight now. She minded her own as she casually walked down to the sands of the beach, her rose eyes pointed towards the cool waters of the ocean on this warm afternoon.
Hooves slid and sunk in the sand making it hard to walk but she kept walking. She walked past hard packed sand where some vegetation grew and she picked an unusual flower she had not seen yet and a strange ground cover and placed them in her mane. She proceeded further as the salty but crisp ocean air got stronger. Her nostrils opened wide and inhaled deeply as she paused and took it all in. Her eyes closed as the wind danced in her mane and tail. It tossed around her eyes and ears, gently caressing all her senses. Letting the breath go she continued into the softer sands as she approached and entered the waters to her knees. She reached her nose down to the waters and playfully splashed the waters with her leg and her nose. The cool waters sprayed on her face, chest, and underbelly. She faced the wind once more and looked out across the waters and wondered if there was anything out there, maybe another world she has no idea of.
It was back in a time when the lands of winter and harsh realities were all she knew, even before she sealed herself away in the camp of Jarl. She hadn't yet earned her title, the name she would wear proudly and shed the one given by parents who were never truly, unconditionally in love with her. There had always been reservations about her not being a colt--for she, the only child to take the throne as heir, would have to fight her way up tooth and nail to gain something that was simply handed to the boys. She was a girl, in the end, and that would be her only downfall.
Did he remember how she stood upon the throne after those years locked in a warrior's life; when she broke all the laws of their Court to become their first female heir? She had bested Hiemsterra's brightest soldier, withstood where he had fallen. She rose to take the crown after being passed off as nothing more than a pretty filly, a proper princess to follow in her nonexistent brother's shadow. Except it would be the brother that fell into hers once she left the lands of Veteris behind.
She knew him, of course, when she was Silanos. She might have seen him in passing as she wandered the Winter Court halls as a yearling, studying the names of all those related to their royal linage. Yet they'd never had a proper conversation, never spoke words to each other at all. They led different lives in the court; she didn't know anything about who he was.
And now he was there, there in her Dusk Court of Novus. But she was Rannveig now, and years had gone long since they saw each other. She recognized him easily at their meeting, basked in the sound of his voice for the first time. And once it split away, each going their own direction, she stayed behind and watched them go. Her heart pounded against the thickness of her ribcage at the sight of him, one from her own family of the Winter Court. And though they only knew one another as shadowy figures, she craved their interaction.
Before he could turn himself away from her at the conclusion of their gathering, she said but one word, one name, hoping he would stay back with her. "Morozko."
Ah Araxes. She was supposed to be in the Night Court 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.
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.
It was cooler here, or perhaps that was simply the virtue of the night. Perhaps the new heights they had reached, in the most literal sense of the word, was another contributing factor.
Of course, it also meant that they were required to move at a slower pace due to the thinning air, such was the fate of one hornbill to deserts and sea-level lands who now walked among mountains.
Although, the cooler temperatures also sapped less energy from their form, their coat of dark hues allowing them to be far more at ease with the chiller air than among the blistering heat of the desert sun. So in a way, they felt more energized in that they didn't feel as though their soul was being bled out through their sweat. They were both less and more energized by the change in climate and atmosphere, so would that's not render them to be in possession of their usual energy levels?
Hmm... questions for the sages and all the noble minds of the courts. Perhaps they ought to deviate from the path towards home and set out for the Dawn Court, if only to ask the court of the greatest sages this question of utmost importance.
But to be so close to home only to turn away? Later, perhaps they would take the journey later.
For now, hooves the color of mosses, of evergreen grasses as the more poetic might claim (were evergreen grasses even a thing? Another question for the Dawn Court), clattered against stone as they hauled the form they were attached to up and over that mountain that impeded their path.
They were far from an experienced climber, but they were determined, as well as creative and willing to explore atypical methods of climbing. (Or were they truly atypical? The equine with the crown of antlers was not one to know.)
There were more than a hooffull of incidents where they found themselves on ledges too narrow for their build, and it was only quick thinking and the refusal to let themselves fall that kept the equine of dark hues from succumbing to an early demise. Perhaps the most curious aspect of the situation was simply the way they seemed to take their situation, even as the crested the most difficulty part of the climb so far and found themselves looking down upon a relatively gentle decline that, while with the occasional obstacle scattered here and there that should make for an easier descent, it did not stop the echoes of their laughter from ringing throughout the mountain pass.
The sound of gay and carefree merriment were fading as the sounds ceased to spill from their lips like a bubbling brook, but the impressions were still upon their face, and the laughter could be read in their eyes.
It seemed that their current dance, a gentle waltz in the mountains, with death, was over for now. No longer pushing the limits, no longer daring to take the path least traveled for the certainty that it would be more expedient, even if it came with a hint of danger. Their eyes still glimmered with the joy of the game, the dance, but they bid their partner farewell and set off down the slope, finding themselves headed deeper into the territory of the Night Court, shining eyes curious as to what they may encounter in this new venture as they headed home.
