I make my way down south through Delumine. First over the canyons, which were just as difficult to cross this second time as they were the first. Then over the Arma Mountains, cold in their frosty altitude despite the spring weather elsewhere. So now I descend the slopes toward the giant lake in the middle of Delumine, where I once enjoyed the dawn with Camdis. I wonder when I'll see the bloke again, because I enjoyed his company so much. It only takes me another half hour or so before I reach the northern edge of the lake. I stop to stare out at the setting sun, already nearing the horizon. It'll be very different here than in Solterra. Not a difference I'm sure I'll mind at all.. the sun was too hot, the soon-to-be leader (from what I guessed based off initial conversation) too bossy and devoid of people skills for my taste. I don't have the greatest people skills either, but at least they usually seem to enjoy my presence.
And so I've come to the land of the Night Court, seeking a strange and different life. Mostly I'm searching for Reichenbach, the friend I'd made when searching for the relic in Delumine. He seemed to have a similar spirit as I, and I can't help but be drawn to him. Just like Camdis, I found myself wanting to spend more time with the other stallion. I could only hope he felt the same way as I invaded his home. I began to travel west along the shore, silver eyes searching for any sign of familiar faces.
I let out a gruff, but happy nicker.. searching. No words, only a call. I hope I don't stink like the desert TOO much. That wouldn't do, to reek of a foreign land and cast suspicion upon myself. And perhaps even get myself kicked out before I can say hello!
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
Without wings, there is really only one way for the albino striped mare to travel and that is upon hardened, rounded, and sure footed hooves but this allows her the ability to really learn about the world around her and to truly see the details that the trees, grasses, waters, stones, and wildlife hold. Every time she sees a bird or a flying horse go by in the sky, they don’t seem to notice her and they usually move so fast. It must be such a wonderful feeling but the things closer to the dirt are where she finds her secret treasures. She does wonder if you can find prizes and trinkets in the clouds.
Her pink hooves are wandering once again as she has recovered from the immense amount of travels she had to do for the relic search. She never did from that artifact of the time god that she had been looking for. She certainly didn’t look over every inch of the land but she felt life she had tried and that is the best that can be expected of one so young and nu-knowledgeable of these lands. She is still a baby to this world, innocent and unmarked in every way, an infant learning to walk as she learned of the plants, herbs, legends, gods, and strangers.
Looking in the distance something seemed different as she looked towards Veneror Peak. She quickly picks her hind up under her and lopes over towards the snow covered peak in the distance, her sides quickly finding a breathing rhythm suited to the endurance of maintaining this speed until she reached the large hedges. Her eyes darted across the thick foliage with it large ominous thorns. The bushes are taller than she had ever seen and certainly not her when she was here before. She snorts as she walks closer to them and breathing in cautiously in case there might be a poisonous aroma in the air. She poked at a leak with her lip before stepping back again. What is this? Magic?
He stretched and looked around through his blue eyes. Blinking at the dawning sunlight, he yawned and turned to look at his coat – it was always a marvel to him, the way it changed by the minute. But to his surprise, it was locked in a single color. He moved, and realized his stars didn’t move with him. His eyes widened. Now, he wasn’t a vain man by any means, but he was used to his coat changing colors to match the sky, and the stars would move to mirror the constellations he was under. He bolted and twisted to look. Nope. Not a single change. What was wrong with him? He stopped and spun, trying to get his coat to work again. Nope. With a groan he stamped the ground and wrinkled his nose. It would seem that his coat was going to mirror the night he was born. Five years ago. His coat was a dark blue with a healthy splash of stars. With a resigned sigh, he decided he needed to find out where he was, and why the magic stopped working. He had never really thought about it before, but now, without his coat doing what it did, he felt lost. He could no longer look at the constellations on his body and find his way. Now he had to rely on…well…the sun, and others. The thought scared him. He preferred solitude, but he wouldn’t turn away company if it came to him. He moved around slowly, each step falling precisely where it was meant to. His eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign, any obvious marking to tell him where he was. Without finding any, he continued on, through the few whispering trees and into the clearing. He could smell water. Turning his blue body, he headed straight for it, and took his time. He was not a hurried creature. While he was ambling, his mind went back to the days when he had a purpose – he was one of the Seven Binders; the seven great humans who were able to bind the greatest necromancer the world had ever seen. Each one had offered something to bind the creature and bury her as deep as they possibly could. Bone, metal, wood…each layer was imbued with their voice; each voice having a different effect. His voice was one that would fill the creature with sorrow, and throw it into death. He was proud to be able to be used for such a purpose. And with that, all of their voices had been turned into bells to be used by the good necromancers – the ones who put the dead to rest and protected the world. What greater honor could you possibly ask for? As the water approached quickly, his thoughts turned to the beauty of it. Clear, cold, wet. He stepped into it, until he was up to his knees in the refreshing ebb and flow. Lowering his head, he drafted a cool drink, marveling at the thought of taste. How strange that water had no discernable taste, and still, it was the most refreshing thing you could possibly ask for. The sound of hooves nearby called to his attention, and with a languid grace, he raised his head and turned, a half smile on his face to greet whomever it was that was approaching him.
Night had fallen, the time of stars and secrets, tender kisses and raucous life - the foundation of their Court. Reichenbach had been at the lake almost all day, wandering, thinking, deciding. The positions of his court would need to be filled by those that upheld the values of Denocte and had their peoples best interests at heart - whether they be foreign or familiar mattered little to the new Sovereign. After all, was Denocte not built from outcasts and travellers? Calligo herself had been dismissed by her siblings, and as it was, their own Sovereign was an orphan, unwanted by the blood of his mother and father. Reichenbach did not often linger on that part of his past, leaving it to loiter like a poisonous shadow underneath the crook of his careless smile and jovial eyes.
Instead, he focused on his most recent history - and the task at hand. He had summoned two to the lakeside, sending one of his little orphan boys to find and deliver a message to each man:
"Reichenbach asks you to join him at Vitreus Lake"
Had either man asked what the meeting might be about, the orphan would not have known, understanding only that he was to deliver the message and then gather a reward waiting for him at the keep. Reich could see each mans reaction clearly - Lothaire would have studied the boy, cool and collected, memorising each feature on the boys face and storing the information away. Camdis (the name sent a finger trailing down Reich's spine) would have simply nodded and set a path for the lake, long locks trailing behind him silently.
So Reichenbach waited, two questions dangling from his lips - and two men coming to answer them.
If this was not some sort of metaphor for the course of Martin's young and mystifying life, the flame-pointed unicorn did not know what could be. He had approached the strange landmark for much the same reasons that infants reach for their reflected image in a mirror, or sharks maim strange primates that foolishly fling themselves into the sea: because he wanted to understand, and because there is no greater engine for understanding than experience.
All the same, the branded boy entered the maze with a prudent helping of caution. Neither charging nor creeping, bolstering his courage with an oft-recited litany against fear, Martin delved through the winding passages and paused only briefly to consult his baser instincts on which direction to turn.
What awaited him beyond the next bend? What wonders - or horrors - did the near-constant rustling and creaking of the hedges in the wind conceal? He would be ready for them, but only because he had no choice. That was the heart of all Martin had ever learned of life.
A great author once put it another way: It's easy, there's a trick to it, you do it or you die.
The sun had set overhead, leaving him only the glistening stars and silver wash of moonlight to illuminate his way through the maze. He would see for himself what secrets it contained.
Nerves led him to hang around the area in which he had recently found himself. Scents were fewer and further between here, although some of that may have been the result of the muggy climate. The way humidity hung thick in the air meant that odors were frequently hidden beneath the musk of watery decay. It was easy to lose your scent when you walked through the waters. Easy for the slick mud to fill in your hoofsteps and rapidly obscure any trace that you were ever there.
It was both a comfort and a curse. Comforting in that the stallion knew that he would be harder to track, but a curse in that it would be more difficult for him to tell if any others had been hanging around the area as well.
He figured that few would tend to stick to the area, and so chose it to be his place of refuge for the time being. Others would most likely be more prone to hanging around the fields he had seen at a distance, or the distant castle that towered above the land. To live in areas of great greenery and soaring grandeur, for who would want to live in a place of uncomfortable humidity, wet boughs, and sticky mud beneath every hoofstep, clinging to your hocks like an inanimate leech?
Auru Geniven would, if for the sole reason that he doubted many others would. That not many would choose to spend the majority of their time hidden amidst the shadows and decay.
But, as he lipped at the fruit of a nearby tree, having reared upon his hindlimbs, forehooves braced against the trunk, a small part of his mind wondered why, and not in a sarcastic way. Sure, perhaps the grasses that grew here were not like those found among rolling fields of flowers, but there were treasures to be found here of a different sort. The man fastened his teeth around the small fruit, slipping his jaws softly along the stem until his teeth rested against the top of the fruit, and he pulled his head back until the fruit was plucked free, stem left behind as his tongue tucked the morsel into his cheek to bite down.
Sweet juices filled his mouth, and copper eyes momentarily lit up just a little bit at the pleasant flavor. As the flesh of the fruit slipped down his throat, the man had no hesitation with shifting his hooves against the tree to give himself additional grip and balance as he stretched to grasp another of the fruits.
For a moment, he forgot about the nerves that chewed at the corners of his mind, the whispers that he was within a Court's lands, and had stayed far longer than he ought. He was a stranger to all, the coward that fled in the night and never returned. The one who never stayed in an area for too long, for then others would know where to find you, would know how to trap you. For a moment he forgot about the whispers of doubt that being 'accepted' into a Court was a lie, a trick. A way to convince a weakling to remain in a place long enough to be taken down, to rid the world of one who didn't have the right to remain in the world with his weak nature.
He forgot about the rebutting whispers that spoke of how he may be tracked down were he to flee, for a traitor was unlikely to be tolerated.
Whispers to stay, whispers to go, for a moment he forgot them all.
Instead, he was distracted by the pleasant, sweet flavor of the fruits that hung above him in the boughs of the tree, the ones that challenged him to test his balance and stubbornness if he wanted to enjoy their taste and texture, to absorb their nutrients into his body. And it was a challenge that he was willing to take, his stomach grumbling contentedly as he fed.
"Just breathe," Vale told herself at the wave of tightness in her chest. Her thoughts had wavered, going to the one being that she couldn't stop worrying herself over, someone she had been trying to ignore but kept coming back persistently. Taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air, she tried to still those thoughts and her racing heart. "Focus on something different...like that." She pulled up short, her great wings beating to keep her from falling to the earth. In front of her, through the morning fog she found herself face to face with a great wall of vines. The wall was thick and not even a speck of a hole could be seen that she might be able to look through. She craned her head back, looking to the sky above and felt her heart flutter once more. The wall seemed to extend far higher then she could fly...how on earth...this had to be a work of the Gods. There was no way it could not have been. Perhaps there was more to this relic then she first thought.
With her interest sparked, Vale descended from the sky, landing neatly in front of the maze. Already she could see many hoof prints in and around the wall, many equines had already come to check it out...and perhaps enter. Following these hoof prints she worked her way around until she found the entrance to the maze, where the hoof prints all converged on one point...then disappeared. Letting out a steady breath she looked up at the wall again, thinking of how tall it was that she couldn't even see the top of it. Whatever this relic was, it must have some worth behind it, especially if it was from the Gods. She hesitated only a little as she pushed her way into the maze, the fear only setting in as the entrance disappeared as the wall of vines grew rapidly until there was nothing left. The mare shifted her weight back, her eyes wide. Clearly there was no way she was getting out from there again. Turning around she faced the long corridor and with no other choice, began to follow it.
Iliad can feel the morning light cast down onto his side. His eyes open slowly and takes in the sound of the sea, the tide washing against the shore, gulls calling overhead and wind crooning in the early sunlight. Around him the air is chilled, a crisp spring morning. He gives an exaggerated yawn and stretches out his wings then leans over to grab his banjo. He flings the instrument over his neck and gets it secure and lets it rest between his wings. The obvious absence of his necromancer doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Nicodemus I swear to god if you’re pick pocketing someone,” Iliad mutters before he spreads his wings out and gets a running start before taking off into flight. “I’ll package your balls and send them back to your mother probably.” He shakes his head as he starts to circle about the shore until he finally steers his wings and starts to head out over the water. It isn’t that he finds himself inseparable from his companion, in fact, it isn’t particularly difficult for him to part ways briefly with Nicodemus but there is an understanding. They are two sides of a similar coin, bred from the same lineage. There is comfort in the familiarity, the lack of questioning in his heritage. Nicodemus was raised with the same stories, spent his days around the fire with their sisters. They are children of the wind mothers, sons of valkyries and maidens. In some convoluted way, that Iliad will never dare admit, they are brothers. Traveling with a shit stain necromancer though is better than traveling alone, so his complaints can only go so far.
Iliad
Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle,
but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
An itch in his bones that he dare not deny, a fire in his belly that could rarely be put out. Most days, Leviathan was a calm titan of a man, always keeping to himself, though he spoke sharp and bit sharper sometimes. It was how he was. But since the new Sovereign had come in to place, there were itches under his skin and tension in the air in the world of brawlers known as Day Court. A tension he needed to relieve, in the form of a spar. It had been far too long since he'd added something to his scar collection, and he ached to launch in to battle once more.
It was an itch he'd have to scratch sooner or later.
All the same, it wasn't some brawler that he managed to bump in to while he wandered, heavy hooves coming to a halt and ears drawing back. Out of habit, his good eye turned toward her, and he blinked. He'd rather see details than the colored blobs that his bad eye offered; already it was going dark on the edges. Soon the sight would be gone for good, and he found he didn't mind.
Still, he frowned a little to himself and released a low grunt as he stepped around the woman. "Scuse me," he managed to say, his tones rolling from his chest in a deep rumble.
It has all led to this. A hodge-podge of clues and calamities, hope crushed underfoot time and again as he wandered his way after what should have been his by right. But now, at long last, he is driven by less then meander hopelessly - he can stride with purpose, knowing that he steps foot on the lands of immortals. His home turf.
Kaladin was not an atheist. Neither was he religious. When he had been free, he had not believed in powers higher then himself - because who could be higher then he who was master of fate? However, ever since his imprisonment, he had found himself in prayer time and time again, eyes to the sky and wondering if anyone cared. But he had soon learned he was the only one he could trust. The gods of these lands were superfluous squanders of divinity, tossing their godly objects out from the heavens to watch in amusement as the mortals ran frantically in search of them. Had Kaladin still been a god himself, he would have reached up into the heavens and slapped them silly. But he was not - at least, not yet.
Over the time of his travels, he had slowly lost hope of ever reclaiming his former glory. And yet, with every mortal he'd encountered, he'd seen incontestable proof that this world needed him; it needed a benevolent god to see this mismatched puzzle taken apart, then piece it back together in matching order.
But those goals had slowly become hazy - like a dream that had been vivid, but disappeared into fog upon waking. Instead, his ambition had been replaced with familiar faces - the crimson-and-horned Camdis, the betraying but angel-faced Damascus, the storm-seeking Seraphina, even the star-strewn woman from the swamp whose name he could no longer recall. And every time he thought of his former power, he was faced with the selfish nature of his destructive intentions. It was not a philosophical question he intended to ponder, however - he had been created as a tool, and the purpose of a tool was specific and absolute.
And so the once-god entered a true-god's land, his hooves determined yet nervous upon the turf, every step ringing loudly in the shivering quiet. His eyes seemed to shine in the maze's gloom - reflecting the emerald dress of the towering hedges. I have no reason to fear, he repeated to himself, a mantra that seemed more and more unconvincing the deeper he entered into the unfamiliar labyrinth. If the relic is anywhere, it is here, he added, every movement deeper into the network of hedges edged with surety and apprehension. The world around him was now dark, with nothing more then the occasional ray of faint light to burst through the darkly-backed forestry. A god would have been comfortable here - but Kaladin was mortal, and so he shivered instead.
He met the first fork in the maze, and paused. Both paths seemed identical to naked eye, but as he closed his eyes he could feel a familiar humming coming from the left. It was the thrum of power, faint as a heartbeat but assertive in its suggestion - reminding Kaladin of what he could soon have. But he knew mortals too well - he knew they would not be able to resist the allure of divinity, as foreign as it was to them. If he were to claim this relic, he could not afford hesitation - and so he picked up the pace, moving to the left, eyes slitted and analytical as he plotted his course.
He was sure, now. He could hear it, like a lone bird singing after dark - freedom, calling his name. This maze was not just a challenge - it was a promise. And if Kaladin knew anything about deities, it was that they always kept their promises.
