olden Corner, placed on the edge of Denocte’s markets where the setting sun crests the longest, sells the sweetest treats in all of Novus. Or so the baker, Isak, will tell you. Despite what stereotypes would lead you to believe, Isak is a pencil-thin thoroughbred cross with wings twice as large as himself. He picked up a love for pastries and other treats when studying abroad in Delumine one summer; since then, he opened Golden Corner and hasn’t closed a day since. Rain, shine, snow, wind; Golden Corner remains open, with an assortment of baked goods, tea, and coffee. Isak is known for his welcoming demeanor and the way, despite the weather, Golden Corner radiates warmth and comfort.
This particular corner of Denocte, in addition, harbors an assortment of orphans and runaways. Isak allows them to perform chores in exchange for small allowances or food. The loft above the bakery, more often than not, acts as a sort of halfway stop for young vagrants and those who have no where else to go. Isak, known for a heart too large, never seems to count the loaves of bread or the cookies that go missing.
A traveller’s refuge, the cabin is known to appear to those who need it most. Those who seek the cabin rarely find it, due to a magical enchantment left there by a witch. Few have ever met Tadgh herself, but the claims vary; a powerful magician, she can cast illusions and spells. These same enchantments are responsible for the varied location of the cabin, and the way that it might transport whoever sleeps within it from one place within the Arma Mountains, to another.
Those who enter Tadgh’s without ill intentions might find a stronghold filled with herbs, potions, and plants with medical properties. Thos ewho enter Tadgh’s with harmful intentions will experience an entirely different cabin; instead, the cabin might be filled with poisonous plants and other harmful concoctions. Tadgh’s cabin has a way of forcing those within it to experience visions or premonitions that may or may not have any truthful substance.
Some might even meet Tadgh herself, should they be lucky (or unlucky) enough.
he Sovereign’s Keep is constructed of old architecture, with rounded domes and arched doorways. The white contrasts starkly with the otherwise dark demeanor of Denocte; and the bright blue seems nearly offensively brazen in the doorways and windows; the originally architecture’s believed the color would keep the bad spirits and demons away. The entire aura of the Sovereign’s Keep is mysterious and mystic, with twisting stairwells that seem to lead nowhere and gardens full of crystals and amethyst, growing as if flowers. Despite rain or shine, the white of the Sovereign’s Keep never tarnishes. Most days, the gardens of the Keep are open to the Court to visit; even the Keep itself often opens the towering blue doors in order to host festivities and field questions.
There are rumors since Sovereign Ira’s arrival, however, that the shadows seem just a little livelier; the darkness flickers as if opaque firelight. The doorways seem to lead toward what one might never expect; a pure mountain spring opens up in a large living quarter; a forest in a room of windows; faceless statues that seem to move and blink. In a city of darkness and magic, the Sovereign’s Keep does not disappoint.
Banners of black silk, decorated in silver dust for Caligo’s stars, are strung across the opening courtyard ; a snarling wolf curled around a crescent moon, the Sovereign’s chosen sigil, beats the wind beneath it.
*The Sovereign’s Keep is open to interactions! Members may be as creative as they would like. The external appearance of the Keep is inspired by Santorini whereas the inside of the Keep changes for the viewer!
viestra Academy, closed in the year 499, has recently been occupied with a flurry of activity. Archmage Seleste has returned from a multi-year hiatus overseas with renewed vigor to open the magic academy. There has yet been word on when this will be, the building, once dormant, begins to attract the attention of Denocte’s citizens with her vibrant new life. Historically, Aviestra Academy went down in Denocte myth as the pinnacle of magic within not only Night Court, but all of Novus. During the Academy’s hay-day, magic-users from all over Novus travelled to attend.
Outside of the Sovereign’s castle, the Academy is the largest structure within Denocte. The architecture, heavily influenced by classical Doric, Ionic and Corinthian styles, is dominated by white marble pillars studded with moonstones and obsidian. Atop a hill overlooking the sea, the Academy is quite a distant walk from the city itself, tangled into the woods just outside of Denocte. From outside the gates, cast in silver, one can hear the rush of water underground and see the gleaming reflective pool that stretches out in the courtyard, flush with greenery.
Word has it Archmage Seleste busies herself with the refounding of the Academy. She has frequently been seen outside of the Founder’s homes throughout Denocte, stirring up a whir of conversation and gossip…
*Characters may lurk around the Academy, but the doors are currently closed. Archmage Seleste is not yet an NPC available to characters, but there will be more to come soon…
iliya speaks in an accent so heavy one can barely recognize it; but she welds the finest armor in all of Denocte, in addition to personalized orders of weaponry. On top of that, Liliya is an excellent leather-worker, and dabbles in a variety of crafts. Liliya, a palomino Clydesdale at 19 hands, is rumored to have been a leading insurgent in a revolutionary war overseas. She never speaks much about it, in much a way that anyone can understand, and instead labors heavily on claymore and chainmail.
The armory is expansive and largely funded by Solterran steel. She welcomes students who wish to learn swordsmanship, and will gladly lecture anyone on the merits of combat.
*Liliya is an NPC anyone is free to interact with.
he McKellar Farm has been known to produce the majority of Denocte’s produce for the last decade. They grow a variety of products, and have a number of homesteads on their multi-acre property outside of the city of Denocte. That said, they occasionally open for seasonal harvests or celebrations. The brothers Rhett and Thomas McKellar are most frequently found stocking the booth in Denocte’s Markets; however, there is always a revolving face of the McKellar family, whether that be the daughters Yuma or Scarlett or old Forrest McKellar himself.
Overall, they are a reputable business, known for their connections within Denocte’s other prominent families. Due to their monopoly on produce, they are well-off, and always keep their cart well-stocked. They are known for their knowledge on town gossip, and will gladly keep the resident’s of Denocte up-to-date on the dirty laundry in the city.
Additionally, they often vary their wares by season. Autumn produce includes: apples, fennel, figs, grapes, mushrooms, greens, pears, onions, pomegranates, carrots, beets, and more.
*Any of the aforementioned McKellar’s can be utilized as NPCs! (And, if any strike someone’s particular interest, they can be made up as adoptables!)
he tavern’s front, although respectable, manages to obscure vagrants from all walks of life. One of the few places where nobles might mingle with travelers, pirates, peasants, and more; Seamus’ has existed since the founding of Denocte, or so they say. The monstrous fireplace keeps the entire tavern warm; musicians are known to perform nightly.
Seamus’ name, of course, hails from the tavern owner. Seamus. Immortal and charismatic, Seamus is known for him impeccable memory, and his ability to dance the fine line between morality and lawlessness. Seamus keeps everyone’s secrets, and all of Denocte knows it; but it is also well known that if someone is looking for information within the Court, Seamus will likely know it.
The tavern represents a unity of pariahs in that anyone and everyone is welcome. There is only one rule: blood may not be shed within the enchanted walls of the tavern, or else the wound dealt will be unleashed sevenfold upon the one responsible.
Additionally, the tavern appears to change seasonally. The exterior might be a wooded cabin one month, a cobblestone building, or a brick home. This enchantment does nothing to the inside, besides one simple fact: the more one drinks, the more the rooms appear to shift and change.
*Seamus is an NPC available for interaction with any character!
How far he was from home. Rolling his shoulders Lovis grimaced at the thought of it. He chewed his lip and watched the prairie grasses chase after a playful wind.
Most times he was unsurpassable. A wall that stood firm in its purpose. But days did come where he was a wall that had stood firm for much too long. Some days if you came in close you would see how time had carved worry lines and tired eyes into the wall of a man.
His clenched jaw softened and his weary mind was soothed by the warbling of a songbird. Tucked away on a nest somewhere, in the swaying grasses, the bird crafted the song for its mate. A soft, hesitant, smile on his lips Lovis hummed a single note to himself whenever the song became a duet. The birds wove their voices together to create melodies that even the most gifted musicians were never quite capable of replicating for themselves.
It was a delicate song though. Woven with fragile threads. The magic the song inspired was broken too easily. Lovis flinched at the raucous laughter of a pair of crows who sat huddled together. A song cut short is the most appalling of thefts! Ears pinned he lobbed a stone at the trunk of the tree that the crows sheltered in the branches of. The birds who had sung had now fallen silent. They too sulked at having their song interrupted and muddied by the crass voices of crows. All to be heard was the muttering of the crows.
Lovis became irritable whenever he left Delumine. It left him alone to be lost within the emptiness of himself. He was not one crafted to exist as a solitary soul. He craved the touch of another. Whenever he was away from the jostling bodies of the capital he felt the ache of solitude. He could not force his skin to still feel the lingering touches of ghosts, lost to him so long ago.
Lovis cast another scornful expression to the crows, who only laughed some more, before turning and heading towards the further reaches of the prairie. He had come to collect herbs native to Denocte.
He cussed the fickleness of plants and where they chose to take root. He cussed the ones who still sat dead in his home. He had left them in the window long after they perished at his hand, he had hoped that they might have sprung back to life; that they would have saved him from having to leave Delumine. However they had not and would not.
If anyone has any doubts about their own self-worth, it is Katniss. So much has happened in her life, many of which she wishes she could forget altogether. She wishes she hadn’t abandoned her daughters, she wishes Metaphor hadn’t died, she wishes she had been a better mother, lover, and soldier.
Even at her core, Katniss puts so much stock in friendship. Deep down, Katniss is a genuine individual that seeks companionship in the form of friendship. She had Kibou and she had Fininck, but what Katniss craved even more than that was a connection with someone that wasn’t family or her bonded. She enjoys having idle conversations with others about nothing in particular. It’s freeing. It makes her forget all that has happened in her life and allows her to just be herself, if only for a moment.
So when she saw Kassandra in the champion gathering, she cannot help but wonder if something was amiss. She had spoken to the mare once before and she seemed friendly enough. But at that gathering, she seemed almost conflicted. Katniss couldn’t put her finger on the why or how, but she felt like Kassandra might need a friend or guidance.
It was this thought that brought her into the center of the court on his early morning. She meandered idly, looking for the blue and silver mare. She can hear the citizens as they awake and begin to go about their day. She can hear the laughter of children and the scolding of mothers. It brings her peace. But none of it belongs to Kassandra.
Eventually, she finds the mare and steps closer. Once at a respectable distance, she offers the mare a smile and a dip of her head in greeting. “Good morning Kassandra. Might I have a word with you?” She doesn’t know how to approach the topic and her mind is still sifting through all possible ways to start the conversation. She motions to her satchel and for a quiet patch of grass beneath a towering oak. “Will you share a meal with me?” Food was always something that won over her own heart, so just maybe she might appreciate the gesture. Katniss only wanted to make the meeting feel like a meeting of friends rather than an intervention.
Posted by: Raglan - 01-28-2021, 05:56 AM - Forum: Archives
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Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
Last he had walked along scrubbed marble floors and peered through towering archways, there had been a different Sovereign sitting the Terrastellan throne. Raglan wracked his brain for the name of the woman he had never met in his short tenure as a Dusk Court citizen. Minutes passed as blackened hooves clacked faintly against the gleaming floors, and still he came up empty. While it did not surprise the stallion that he knew little of Dusk’s history, the Crow was admittedly a bit shocked at his almost pointed lack of interest in the kingdom at all.
Terrastella was no Denocte, no, but hadn’t that been the whole point of him returning to live here time and time again? Raglan had fled Denocte as both a land and as a concept, yet it seemed that the evening court could not quite grasp his heart. Maybe it was too gentle, this Kingdom made up of the breaths between the burning of Day and the cool embrace of Night; too forgiving and too kind for the boy who had wracked and whipped his own spine in payment for the betrayal he had showed his Motherland. Indeed, in a realm of healers and in the slow, timeless space before the warmth of the sun faded, one could easily expect to find absolution, forgiveness, grace for all of their transgressions.
Did he not deserve such things? It was a question the pegasus had asked himself over and over — out loud, as a shout and as a whisper, in the dark and in the light, beneath the peace of sleep and within the chaos of consciousness — yet, Raglan was no closer to finding such an answer. A large part of him was locked in a violent and yet soundless battle against such despair, arguing that the part of somber, angst-ridden male did not, and would never, suit him.
Drive on! This hidden piece of him bellowed, You are the last of Us, the torchbearer. You cannot live a life worth forgetting.
And yes, sometimes the voice struck a chord in him; he would raise his crowned head and throw his energy into discovering once again what it was to live in the present. Though when his energy was spent and the Night came calling, as it did every day, Raglan wilted and found himself once more trapped in the strangling vines of the past and all of the pain and regret it held.
The Silvertongue sighed, slowing to a stop as his hooves seemed to grow leaden beneath his body, and found himself standing in an empty parlor. The windows were thrown open to accommodate the late afternoon heat and gauzy drapes fluttered in a humid breeze. Raglan felt his legs carry him closer to one of the lovingly wrought windows, ears perking at the soft sound of birdcall and the music of some far off trickling fountain. Sunlight, lazy and burnished, glided languidly over Raglan’s skin like a syrup, filling the Crow with a soft silence that felt almost akin to peace.
He breathed deep, then let the air loose as a sigh, refusing to question or ponder why his past had decided to let him be for this moment. Indeed, the stallion may have been many things, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let true silence slip away.
